Chapter 16
I TAKE SMALL, PANICKED brEATHS AS I think of Ursa, of Dr Seymour and her baby, of Sophie and Karim. We only spent a few days down in the tunnels, yet somehow, the fighting has already started.
And the people we love most are in the middle of it.
‘We need a boat, or a dragon,’ I say.
Hot panic courses through my body. When was the attack? Who has been killed? I imagine the shadow of a Bulgarian dragon cast over a fleeing Ursa and swallow a sob. Every second standing here is a second wasted.
‘Look,’ Serena says.
A group of dragons is flying across the water towards Canna. They attempt to avoid Wyvernmire’s camp by keeping close to Sanday, but they’ve already been spotted. Bulgarian dragons rise up to meet them.
‘I recognise that one,’ Marquis says. ‘It’s Soresten.’
‘Soresten? From Bletchley?’ I reply.
He nods. We watch as the Bulgarian Bolgoriths advance towards the incoming dragons. Before they even reach them, a burst of flame comes from Soresten. There’s a sound like metal tearing as the dragons clash in the air.
‘Right,’ Serena breathes. ‘It seems the next battle is now.’
‘Let’s go,’ Marquis says. ‘If Chumana is with those rebels then she can fly us to Eigg. We’ll do what we can to help the Coalition and find out what Hollingsworth’s back-up plan is.’
I nod, refusing to consider the possibility that there is no back-up plan.
All that matters to me now is seeing Ursa unharmed.
We run for Compass Hill, tearing across the fields and past the low stone wall that leads to Jasper’s empty camp.
We reach the top drenched in sweat and crawl through the grass on our stomachs.
Across the water, Soresten is still fighting.
We peer over the cliff’s edge at Wyvernmire’s camp.
The tide is out, making it even bigger. Hundreds of dragons stand on the black sand, white Guardians of Peace milling between them.
They’re setting up what look like small cannons along the shore, pointing the heavy barrels skywards.
Speerspitzes.
The guns are slimmer than I imagined but the weight of them sinks deep gouges into the sand. Hostile screams carry in from the waves as the survivors of Soresten’s group begin to retreat and the Bulgarian dragons circle back, not even bothering to follow them.
‘Look at Wyvernmire’s tent,’ Gideon says quietly.
My eyes skim over the Guardian helmets and scaly dragon bodies, just in time to see a figure slip into the back of the tent.
Atlas.
I feel the pit of my stomach drop.
‘What’s he doing?’
‘God knows,’ Serena says, rolling her eyes.
Marquis snorts.
The minutes pass torturously slowly as we wait for Atlas to emerge from the tent. I stare at the fabric billowing in the breeze, at the dragons on the other side, and pray that he’s alone in there. Maybe Wyvernmire has been imprisoned somewhere else. Maybe she’s dead.
‘The secret mission I read about in his diary,’ I say, my cheeks warming at the admission. ‘Are we just going to pretend it doesn’t exist?’
I feel Marquis turn towards me, but keep my eyes on the tent.
‘I think he’s a fool to be chasing after that ridiculous echolocation theory,’ he says. ‘But it is possible that the Coalition entrusted him with something else, and why punish him for that? Things have to be classified during a war, that’s just the way it is.’
I bite my lip. Then – movement.
Atlas slips out of the tent, his hands full of paperwork. He stuffs it into his jacket pockets.
‘That’s what he went in for?’ Serena says.
Atlas looks up, scans the clifftops, stops. He’s seen us. As our eyes meet, an agonised screech comes from the beach. Atlas ducks for cover, but none of the dragons or Guardians on the sand seem to take notice. The screech sounds again.
‘It sounds like a tortured animal,’ I whisper.
Marquis points across to the other side of the beach. ‘How much do you want to bet it’s coming from inside that giant tent?’
The tent is surrounded by armed Guardians.
‘What do you think’s in there?’ Gideon says. ‘A dragon prisoner?’
We stare at it in horrified silence.
‘What if,’ Serena says quietly, ‘it’s a wyvern?’
My skin crawls. ‘We have to go and look.’
‘And do what?’ Marquis says.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply impatiently. ‘But what if it’s Cindra? Aberdine? Aodahn?’
Marquis sinks back into the grass. ‘Are you proposing we free an imprisoned dragon from right under the enemy’s nose?’
‘I’ve done it before, haven’t I?’
He rolls his eyes, then points to the beach. ‘Looks like he’s as mad as you are.’
Atlas is running along the edge of the beach towards the big tent, zigzagging between the cliff faces that jut out across the sand. I bite back a smile.
‘He’s going to get caught,’ Serena breathes.
We watch as he almost runs into the path of a Guardian, diving behind another army tent just as the Guardian turns around.
‘Come on,’ I say.
We slip down the side of a cliff on the opposite end of the beach. Gorse and thorns catch at my trousers as I keep close to the cliff face and out of view of the camp. I spot a crowd of people over on Sanday.
Jasper actually listened to me.
We creep across the sand to where Atlas is waiting, crouched among the rockpools. Our eyes meet.
‘Well, that was a bright idea,’ I snap. ‘What on earth did you go into Wyvernmire’s tent for? And why did you go off without us?’
‘Because there’s no time to waste.’ He pulls the papers out of his pocket and hands two sheets to me. The first is a newspaper article, dated six days ago.
ESPIONAGE UNVEILED:
CHANCELLOR HOLLINGSWORTH A REBEL ON THE RUN
My breath catches in my throat.
‘She’s been found out,’ Marquis croaks.
‘But not arrested,’ Atlas says quickly.
I glance at the second document, which sports a government stamp.
17th April, 1924
Hebridean Wyverns are rarely seen on Canna but their presence has been confirmed by the Royal Observatory of Dragons and Dragonlings.
They have no dealings with other species and are not well-liked by Canna’s dragons, on account of their fickle, snobbish nature.
The Hebridean Wyverns speak only one language: their own unrecorded tongue.
Researchers claim that even this may be redundant as large groups are able to understand each other simply, from, the source claims, ‘instinctive mannerisms which act as a sort of sign language’.
– Information procured through enhanced interrogation techniques from the source Arabesqua, a Sand Dragon detained by the DDAD, whose offspring is currently a ward of Dr Arthur Burke.
‘Do you think Wyvernmire always knew the rebels were searching for the wyverns?’ I ask hoarsely. ‘Do you think she knows why?’
‘I doubt it,’ Atlas says.
‘Unless . . .’ says Marquis.
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence.
My eyes fall on the words enhanced interrogation techniques.
Unless Hollingsworth has been arrested since the newspaper article was published, and had the information tortured out of her.
I feel a wave of nausea as I imagine the Chancellor at Highfall, her fur coat and rings replaced by undignified prison clothes, cowering as Guardians force her to give up rebel plans, identities, locations.
I hand the papers back to Atlas. ‘We can’t win,’ I hear myself say in a small voice. ‘Not if the Bolgoriths have gained control of the rebel headquarters. Not if there’s no other plan but the wyverns—’
He turns to me abruptly, grabbing me by the shoulders, and plants a kiss on my mouth. Marquis lets out a disgusted groan. Atlas smells of peppermint. I push him away.
‘What are you doing?’ I mutter impatiently. ‘Didn’t you say I never listen? Didn’t you—’
‘If we haven’t lost then we can still win, Featherswallow,’ Atlas says with a wink. ‘Did you see Soresten in the sky earlier? If he’s flying free, then Eigg hasn’t fallen yet. This isn’t over.’
I think of Ursa and feel a flicker of hope. ‘We go to Eigg, then. But first, we need to make sure the Guardians aren’t torturing a wyvern inside that tent.’
Atlas nods. ‘Except we can’t just walk in there.’
‘Yes, we can,’ Serena says.
We look at her. She leans one arm on the cliff face and points at the entrance to the tent. Ralph is standing guard, looking smug.
‘Featherswallow,’ Serena says sharply. ‘Ralph wants you and your loquisonus machine. So you’re going to walk out there and let him think he can have both.’
‘No!’ Atlas and Marquis exclaim together.
‘Yes,’ I say, nodding. ‘I’ll distract him so you can get into the tent.’
‘And then what?’ Marquis says. ‘How the bloody hell will we get you back again?’
Another loud roar comes from inside the tent.
‘The only way to control a dragon is to insert a detonator under its skin,’ I say. ‘So you cut it out, like I did last year with Chumana, and whichever dragon is in there will burst from that tent so fast that the whole camp will go up in flames. I’ll run and then we’ll escape to Eigg.’
‘That’s a stupid idea,’ Marquis snaps.
Serena rolls her eyes. ‘No more stupid than hanging around here talking about it.’
‘Viv is my cousin, Serena! And while you might not give a damn what happens to her, I can’t—’
‘We’ve all got skin in the game, Marquis,’ Serena spits. ‘Did you know Wyvernmire made sure my parents died by dragonfire? She forced an imprisoned rebel dragon to set our estate alight, just to add insult to injury.’
Marquis falls silent, his cheeks burning as she turns her icy stare to me.
‘I’m sure cousin Vivvy will be fine.’
Atlas’s hand comes down on my wrist. ‘You make a good rebel, Featherswallow, but there’s a fine line between being good and being reckless.’
‘Yet another insult, King. I’m beginning to think you don’t like me.’ I meet his gaze. ‘I’m doing it. And you’re not going to stop me.’
He glares back at me, his mouth twitching.
‘It’s the best idea we have, Atlas,’ Gideon says.
Marquis swears and Atlas turns back to the beach, but his hand is still on mine.