CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ATLAS’S TRIUMPH TURNS TO SHOCK as he sees the blood on my face.
‘What did he do to you?’ he stutters, tracing the cut that runs from the corner of my mouth to my cheek.
I ignore the question. ‘She didn’t push you off the roof?’
‘Oh, she did,’ Chumana says calmly. ‘I had to catch him like a dog catches a stick.’
Marquis smothers a laugh and Chumana looks pleased.
‘Where’s Karim?’ he asks.
‘I was flying him to safety when I heard Vivien’s calls,’ Chumana growls. ‘I left him on a nearby farm.’
‘We need to get Ursa and Dr Seymour,’ I say. ‘Are they in the—’
‘Basement,’ Atlas says with a nod, his eyes on the glasshouse. ‘Where’s Ralph?’
‘I knocked him out,’ says Marquis unapologetically. Then he turns to me. ‘Did you say … Ursa?’
But, before I can explain, Chumana breathes flames from her mouth and nostrils. I feel the heat scorch my hair and pull Marquis back as we watch the glasshouse burn. Orange flames lick up the edges of the building and windowpanes shatter. Through the empty frames, I see the fire spreading, finding its way across the worn rugs and up the wooden tables, eating through the cushions and the plants and the magazine collection. Soon it will devour the last of my notes and the remnants of the first loquisonus machine.
‘Ralph,’ I say. ‘He’s still alive in there.’
Atlas and Marquis look at each other.
‘See, after what he did to you, Viv—’ Marquis begins.
‘Atlas,’ I say sharply. ‘Surely you’re not going to—’
‘No,’ Atlas says with a frustrated sigh. ‘No, I suppose I’m not.’
He runs round to the secret window in the glasshouse and steps inside.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Marquis says, going after him.
Chumana turns to me. ‘There is something you must know, something I failed to explain to you last time.’
I wait.
‘The Koinamens calls you hear through your machine, the ones that make us dragons sound like birds. They do not sound that way to dragons. The conversion to a frequency humans can hear distorts them and strips them of the crucial thing they carry.’
There’s a screech as the structure of the glasshouse begins to weaken.
I take a step closer to Chumana. ‘What thing?’
‘Emotion,’ Chumana says. ‘Each call carries a complex emotion. A warning call will give the receiver a sudden sensation of fear, like an electric shock. And if the communicating dragons are closely bonded, are from the same family, one may even be able to see, momentarily, through the other’s eyes.’
I shake my head, struggling to grasp what she means. Marquis and Atlas reappear, coughing and pulling Ralph between them. But my focus is on Chumana’s voice alone.
‘The stronger the bond between dragons, the better they can understand each other. That is why dragons who don’t know each other can only communicate using basic calls, calls that, without that emotional link running through their bones, they sometimes fail to understand.’
I think of the way Muirgen and Rhydderch communicated so instinctively, yet could barely echolocate with Borislav.
‘So that’s what a familial dialect is?’ I say. ‘A strong emotional bond?’
Glass shatters behind us again and Marquis puts a hand on my arm.
‘Viv, we have to go.’
‘Yes,’ Chumana hisses. ‘And, while it is possible to translate the Koinamens into human language, its emotion, and therefore most of its meaning, is inevitably lost.’
‘Every act of translation requires sacrifice,’ I murmur to myself.
‘ This is why humans must never be permitted to imitate it,’ Chumana says urgently. Her eyes are like golden suns, boring into me as if trying to read my mind. ‘To record and emit one of Muirgen’s calls to Rhydderch on its original frequency would cause him to feel her in his being. It would be like playing your sister’s voice to you inside your mind, as clear as if she were standing right beside you. You would follow it to the ends of the earth, would you not?’
Chumana lets out a loud, hot breath. ‘So would Rhydderch. And the Bulgarian humans knew this. It is why they wanted to exploit it, and it is why they are dead.’
A loud roar rings through the night.
‘Wyvernmire’s dragons know you’re here,’ Atlas tells Chumana, lying Ralph at the foot of a tree.
Chumana nods, watching me as I try to wrap my mind round what she has just revealed. Any human translation of the Koinamens would be a pale imitation of its original meaning. I glance back at the glasshouse. What we were doing in there was an impossible task. And yet even our feeble attempts could have had disastrous consequences. Now I understand Muirgen’s fury and why Chumana flew all the way to Bletchley to make me see.
‘I’m going for Ursa,’ I tell the boys.
Atlas nods. ‘And then we need to get to the Aviation workshop.’
‘The Aviation workshop?’
‘That’s how we escape,’ Atlas says.
‘Can’t we go on Chumana’s—’
Chumana swoops upwards, her wings beating just above our heads before she glides across the trees towards the manor. There’s a sound like screeching metal.
‘She’s fighting,’ Atlas says.
‘Am I hearing this right?’ Marquis says. ‘Are you suggesting we escape by plane?’
‘Yes,’ Atlas says impatiently. ‘You built it. Didn’t you tell me you know it inside out?’
‘Doesn’t mean I can fly it, you bloody idiot!’ Marquis replies.
‘We’re wasting time!’ I shout. ‘Marquis, can you find Sophie?’
‘She’ll be at the manor,’ he says. ‘We agreed to meet there if we got separated.’
We run through the forest, the sound of exploding glass echoing behind us, until we reach the garden. In the sky above the manor, Chumana collides with another dragon, sending it smashing into the roof.
‘Fire!’ a maid screams as she comes running out of the kitchen door. ‘Dragons!’
We duck as a ball of flames hits the bush next to us and then two Guardians come running round the corner.
They both shout out when they see us. ‘All recruits are to report to—’
Marquis raises his gun and shoots. The bullet skitters off the drainpipe, but it’s enough to make them disappear behind the wall.
‘Reckon you could do any better?’ Marquis says to Atlas when he smirks.
‘Absolutely not,’ Atlas replies.
He follows me through the door, but I stop as a group of people hurtle down the dark hallway towards us.
‘Go back, go back!’ I shout to Atlas, turning round.
‘Viv!’ squeaks a small voice. ‘Did you see the dragon catch that boy in the sky?’
I feel Marquis tense and Atlas fumbles with a light.
Dr Seymour is standing in front of us, Ursa in her arms, and beside her, laden with guns, are Gideon and Serena.
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ Marquis says.
‘Thank God,’ I whisper as Dr Seymour pushes Ursa into my arms.
‘Did you see, Viv? Did you?’
I push Ursa’s hair out of her face and laugh. ‘I did see. And here’s the boy.’
Atlas smiles and holds out his hand to shake Ursa’s. ‘Nice to meet you, Ursa. I’m Atlas.’
Ursa is already staring over my shoulder with wide eyes. Marquis falls into a low bow, his eyes suddenly wet.
‘Long time no see, little bear.’
Ursa reaches for him and I reluctantly let her go. I stare at Gideon and Serena.
‘Where the hell have you two been?’
‘Saving your sister,’ Serena says, her eyes flashing.
‘It’s true,’ Dr Seymour says, adjusting her broken glasses. ‘Moments after we were locked in the basement, these two burst down the stairs armed to the nines.’
Serena pulls another gun from her back and hands it to me, even though we both know I have no idea how to use it.
‘Come to your senses, have you?’ Atlas glowers at Gideon. ‘Not going to try and kill someone again—’
I put my hand on his arm and he falls silent.
‘Thank you,’ I say to Gideon and Serena. ‘Both of you.’
Gideon sniffs and hands Atlas a gun. ‘Anyone got a plan to get out of here?’
‘It seems I’ve been promoted to pilot,’ Marquis says cheerfully, straightening Ursa’s hair ribbon. ‘Shall we get on with it?’
Loud voices sound from outside.
‘Wyvernmire’s called for reinforcements,’ Serena says.
Dr Seymour nods. ‘There’s another exit through the ballroom. It’ll take us out to the other side of the grounds, where the workshops are.’
There’s a loud screech, then a flash of blue out of the window. Muirgen?
‘Go!’ Marquis says as he moves to bolt the back door.
The whole house shudders and the wall behind the stove falls in.
‘Can we go home now?’ Ursa whines.
The house trembles again and a piece of plaster falls from the ceiling, narrowly missing Marquis’s head. Adrenaline shoots through me as we run down the corridor and burst into the entrance hall as a group of Guardians come through the front door. I raise my gun, my finger feeling cluelessly for the trigger, but they stampede past us and up the stairs.
‘The Prime Minister is being targeted!’ one of them shouts.
We follow Dr Seymour into the ballroom, then out of a small door and into the grounds. I turn to look at the manor. Tiles and rubble are cascading off the roof and behind it the forest is on fire, flames surging up to the very tops of the trees as if to outshine the first tendrils of orange sunrise.
‘Faster, Viv!’ Marquis shouts as he streaks past me, Ursa bouncing on his hip.
Across the lawn in the courtyard, Rhydderch is towering over the Guardian cars. He swings his spiked tail, slamming into his opponent, a silver patrol dragon named Fenestra, who lets out an agonised roar. Guardians scramble for cover as the dragons fall against the cars, flattening them.
‘He – he’s with us!’ I stutter in shock. ‘Rhydderch and Muirgen are fighting on our side.’
A Guardian looks up from the rubble and our eyes meet. He shouts something at several others, who run towards me.
‘Viv!’ Marquis screams.
He and the others have already reached the workshops and Gideon and Serena are dragging open the tall wooden doors to one of them.
Atlas pulls me by the hand and I tear my gaze away from Rhydderch.
‘Not much further now,’ Atlas breathes.
I wipe sweat from my brow as we run and cough through a cloud of black smoke. Atlas’s hand is hot in mine as we skid to a halt in front of the workshop. There’s a huge crashing sound, followed by a rumbling like thunder. Across the grass, a dragon I don’t recognise has smashed the entrance gates down. They land on the gravel of the courtyard and hundreds of people burst through. Soldiers and civilians holding guns, batons and knives.
‘Down with the government!’ they scream.
‘Down with Wyvernmire!’
‘The Coalition,’ I whisper. ‘They’re actually here.’
Atlas’s eyes glitter as he watches. The Guardians pursuing us fall back, redirecting their attention to the incoming invasion. And then come the dragons. They fly through the smoke from across the lake, a kaleidoscope of colours, their wings shielding the rebel humans from bullets as they swoop like birds of prey. We step inside the workshop, which is filled with rows of motorcars and Guardian trucks on each side. And in the middle, surrounded by tarpaulin sheets and tools, is a fighter plane.
‘You built this?’ I ask Marquis.
‘Serena did most of the building,’ Marquis says. ‘Karim and I did the wiring and the engine. And,’ he says, pulling down the steps and clicking them into place, ‘Karim made this.’
The metallic steps are covered in a blue fabric across which dance hundreds of tiny silver dragons.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say.
‘Yes, absolutely gorgeous,’ Atlas mutters impatiently. ‘Now get in.’
Serena climbs into the cockpit and Gideon and Dr Seymour follow her up the metal steps.
‘Wait,’ I say. I look at Marquis and Ursa, their faces black with smoke.
‘I can’t leave Sophie here,’ I say.
‘What are you talking about?’ Atlas growls.
I spin round. ‘Did you think I was just going to climb on to this plane without her?’
Why did I think that she’d be here, waiting for us? Where is she?
‘Viv,’ Marquis says slowly, ‘I told Sophie to get out if she couldn’t find me. She’ll have escaped by now, up through the forest.’
‘And we’re just meant to assume that, are we?’ I say.
‘Yes!’ says Atlas fiercely. ‘Viv, you’ve done everything you can. You destroyed your translations, and the glasshouse is gone. It’s time to go now, to get away with both your cousin and your sister. This is what you came to Bletchley for.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t abandon Sophie,’ I say. ‘Not again. After everything I told you, can’t you understand—’
‘ I’ll find her,’ he says.
‘You?’ I say incredulously. ‘But you’re coming—’
A shadow falls across the workshop, and the first shaft of daylight peeking through the slats in the wooden roof is extinguished. Outside, the sky has gone dark, as if the moon has eclipsed the rising sun. The shooting and roaring stop as I run to the door. Then suddenly the dim light returns.
And the formation of Bulgarian dragons above us breaks apart.
There must be a hundred of them, all shades of black and red. They fly like a regiment marches, with sharp angular movements and swift turns in direction. As they head for the courtyard, I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
‘I don’t understand,’ Atlas says. ‘They weren’t meant to be here until tomorrow. Isn’t that what Wyvernmire said?’
No one answers him. We all just stare as the dragons advance across the sky. In the courtyard, the rebel humans and Guardians have ceased all fighting and are staring upwards. Even the Bletchley and rebel dragons seem to hover in mid-air, waiting. A burst of flames shoots from the Bulgarian formation and I feel a jolt of electricity in my chest.
‘Serena!’ I shout. ‘Start the plane.’
I grab my cousin’s arm. ‘You and Serena can fly this thing together, I know it.’
‘Get on the plane, Viv,’ Marquis says through gritted teeth.
I shake my head and Ursa begins to cry.
‘I’ll find you,’ I tell her. ‘I just have to go back for Sophie.’
She kicks and screams as Marquis lifts her up the steps and Gideon catches hold of her, pulling her inside.
‘Viv, please,’ Marquis says, tears in his eyes.
I reach up and kiss his cheek. ‘I promise I’ll be fine,’ I say. ‘Take care of Ursa, okay?’
He holds me tightly for a moment, then climbs up the steps.
‘Atlas?’ I say.
He gives me a sheepish look. ‘You didn’t think I was going to let the Coalition fight without me, did you?’
‘Have you seen the sky?’ I shout. ‘How are you going to fight Bulgarian dragons?’
‘Look,’ Atlas says.
Chumana is flying towards the Bulgarians, flanked by Rhydderch and Muirgen, Soresten and Addax, Yndrir and a group of rebel dragons. There’s only a small stretch of sky between the two opposing groups. What is she doing?
For a moment, none of them move, the Bulgarian army with scales like glass on one side, and a small group of dragons, already bleeding from battle, on the other. Are they echolocating? Is Chumana trying to reason with them? Three of the Bulgarian dragons at the front of the formation jerk forward and Rhydderch reacts, leaping to shield his group with a warning snarl. The Bulgarians lunge for him and a scream rings through the sky as they pull his head from his body and blood sprays down like rain.
‘No!’ I shriek.
Monstrous screeches come from the Bletchley dragons as they attack in retaliation and the sky suddenly heaves with movement. Below, the gunshots and fighting resume. There’s a ringing in my ears as Atlas’s eyes meet mine and I see my own horror reflected back. A sea of fire streams down on to the courtyard, engulfing a group of rebel humans and Guardians. The plane splutters into life. The Coalition is ridiculously outnumbered. There’s no way they’ll survive this. How did we ever think we were going to fight an army of Bulgarian dragons? As the plane moves forward, Atlas grabs hold of me.
‘Get on,’ he says.
‘You get on,’ I retort.
‘I can’t—’ He glances back at the burning courtyard. ‘I have to help them.’
‘What good are you going to do out there?’ I say. ‘You’re a seminarian, not a soldier—’
‘We can’t let Wyvernmire become more powerful, Viv. We can’t—’
I grab his face in my hands. ‘Listen to me!’ I shout over the deafening noise of the propellers. ‘It’s too late. The Bulgarians are here and there’s too many of them. There’s going to be a real war, a—’
I stop as a memory appears amid the chaos of my mind. The sound of violins, a flash of feathers and fur, bubbles rising in a glass of champagne.
Language is as crucial to war as any weapon.
And it hits me.
‘I’ve got to go back,’ I say slowly. ‘I’ve got to go back to Wyvernmire and give her what she wants.’
Atlas pushes me out of the way as the plane jerks forward with a roar and Marquis stares at me through the cockpit window. I shake my head at him and he says something to Serena. Then the plane jolts forward again and hurtles out of the workshop and across the grounds before lifting into the air.
‘What did you just say?’ Atlas says.
‘I’ve got to be Wyvernmire’s translator,’ I say. ‘It’s the only hope we have of controlling the Bulgarians—’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ he spits. ‘That’s the opposite of what the Coalition stands for—’
‘Look around you, Atlas!’ I shout. ‘Soon there will be no Coalition left. The Bulgarians are here, and you can be sure more are coming. If Wyvernmire has no way of listening in on them, no possibility of control, then Britannia will become dragon country. You know as well as I do that this new alliance is just temporary. And this war we’ve been fighting, rebels versus government, is nothing compared to what will happen when Queen Ignacia learns she’s been betrayed and the Bulgarians decide that Wyvernmire is just a thorn in their side. All we can do now is help our people, our country—’
Atlas seethes. ‘So we just give up? Bow down to the Bulgarians, to Wyvernmire?’
I’ll never give the Koinamens to Wyvernmire, never let her know how mastering it could give her power she’s only dreamed of. But I can use what I’ve learned to spy on the Bulgarian dragons, to make sure they can’t betray her, to protect Britannia and the rebels at the same time.
‘For now,’ I say gently. ‘Until we find a way to fight them. I’ll give Wyvernmire a fake code, let her think that I’m with her, and, when she realises what she’s done by letting the Bulgarians into the country, maybe she’ll …’
The rest of my sentence is drowned out by the sound of Marquis’s plane overhead. It circles once above the forest beyond and, as it rises, flames burst out from beneath the nose.
I can almost hear Marquis’s whoop of triumph.
A fire-breathing plane.
‘I thought this was what I was supposed to be doing,’ Atlas says. ‘That if it isn’t to be a priest then maybe it’s to fight for change with you. To defend people, my people, the Third Class and the dragons.’
His voice breaks and I take his hands and kiss them.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘And maybe it is. The Coalition – the rebel cause – isn’t just here inside Bletchley. It’s out there.’ I gesture beyond the fighting and the broken gates. ‘You’re the man who risked his life to save just one person, when you hid him back in your church. Just because we’ve lost this battle doesn’t mean it’s all over.’
He takes a step back. ‘But I’ve still failed. All this time, I was readying myself to lead the battle. We planned the attack for months—’
‘That’s just your pride talking,’ I say. ‘Believe me, I know.’
He stares at me with red-rimmed eyes.
‘There’s another loquisonus machine, in the woods,’ I say.
‘I thought they both burned in the glasshouse—’
‘I hid the one you didn’t get to break. But not for me,’ I say quickly. ‘It was to communicate with the rebel dragons, in case Chumana didn’t hear my message. But we can use it to spy on the Bulgarians, to learn their calls and make sure we stay one step ahead. Language – that’s how we rebel.’
‘The Coalition’s dragons will never agree,’ Atlas says. ‘How can you even suggest it, after everything Chumana told you—’
‘They might if it’s the only thing that can save us,’ I say fiercely. ‘And afterwards we’ll make sure no human can ever use a loquisonus machine again. We can still beat the Bulgarians and win this new war.’
Atlas’s gaze fixes on to mine, wary of this last beacon of hope.
‘I trusted you when you said that I should tell Sophie the truth, that I could be forgiven,’ I say. ‘Helping people, that’s kind of your speciality, right? That’s how you’re called to love. Well, language is mine. You said so yourself, remember?’
I stroke his cheek as we remember that moment by the dragon-egg statue.
‘Now I need you to trust me , Atlas.’
He leans forward, his face like a bewildered child’s, and kisses me.
‘I trust you, Viv.’
‘Then we need to go back to the glasshouse.’
Burning bodies and the corpse of a dragon litter the grounds as we tear back past the manor and into the forest. The trees around us are on fire, too, and in the middle of them the glasshouse is melted and black. There’s no sign of Ralph. I cough and retch as smoke fills my eyes, kicking around in the undergrowth until I see it. The golden speaker of the loquisonus machine sticking out through the leaves. I check it’s intact, the glass and metal almost too hot to touch, then turn to Atlas.
‘We’ve got to find Wyvernmire,’ I say. ‘Her helicopter is still here, so she hasn’t been evacuated, but she can’t be inside.’
Half the manor has already burned down.
‘The basement,’ Atlas says suddenly. ‘It’s fireproof because of the—’
‘Dragonlings,’ I finish. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Wait,’ Atlas says. ‘We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this yet. And, if she doesn’t, she could trap you down there. You’re the one with the code in your head, not me. I’ll go.’
I hesitate but he’s right. Wyvernmire has an army of Bulgarian dragons on her side, so Atlas and his zoology knowledge are now irrelevant to her. But if he can lead her to me … I take a breath.
‘All right,’ I say, rising up on my toes to kiss him. ‘I’ll wait for you here, where the smoke keeps me hidden.’
Atlas nods, then turns and disappears through the trees.
Everything that mattered yesterday – keeping the code from Wyvernmire, joining the rebels, getting out of Bletchley – is suddenly irrelevant. A war is coming, a three-way war between Wyvernmire and the Bulgarians, Queen Ignacia and the Coalition. And our only chance of winning is to give our enemy something to fight an even bigger enemy with. Because if I’ve learned anything from my mama and her family’s fate it’s that Bulgarian dragons don’t ally with humans. But I can help make sure this war isn’t the end of us all. I can use my dragon tongues, my knowledge of echolocation, to save us. I can still give Sophie her life back. I stare at the loquisonus machine, at the remnants of the glasshouse, at the ashes of my life at Bletchley Park.
This is my second chance.