Chapter 16 #2
‘Fine, but there’s no point all of us getting caught. I’ll sneak into the tent once Viv has distracted Ralph. You three –’ Atlas glances at Marquis, Serena and Gideon – ‘should go and find Soresten or Chumana, so we can fly to Eigg as soon as we’ve released the dragon in the tent.’
‘You agree, then?’ I say. ‘That there must be a back-up plan? That Hollingsworth’s intention was never to exploit the wyvern echolocation?’
‘Whatever her plan was, all that matters now is that the rebels are ready for the next battle. Have you seen how many Bulgarian dragons are on the beach? If we can’t pull out all the stops, things are going to get bad.
’ He grimaces and points to another newspaper sticking out of his pocket.
‘The Bolgoriths have taken London. A portion of the French dragon army came to the rebels’ aid in the battle for the city, but we lost. And Ignacia’s troops have retreated.
More than half of Britannia’s dragon population is in hiding. ’
I reel like I’ve been slapped.
‘Half?’ Marquis echoes.
‘Fancy being the Dragon Queen and failing to fight for your own country,’ Gideon says. ‘If she joined the rebels, we might stand a chance.’
‘The wyverns would never have been able to help us, then,’ I say. ‘There aren’t enough of them, not if they can’t use their . . .’
I trail off as Atlas’s eyes dart to mine. I see the truth staring back at me and my heart sinks. He still believes the answer has something to do with echolocation. He’s still going to try and convince me. That’s why he’s sending the others away.
‘Go,’ I tell Marquis.
He nods, then pulls my head towards him and plants a kiss on my hair.
‘Don’t get caught, cousin,’ he says. He glances at Atlas. ‘And don’t die this time, King.’
Atlas grins. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
Serena winks at me and the three of them climb back up the cliff and disappear across the top. I return my gaze to Ralph, who is picking at his nails in front of the tent.
‘I should go.’
‘Wait,’ Atlas says.
I turn to look at him.
‘I’m sorry about what I said in the graveyard. And for being so . . . distant.’
‘You mean cold,’ I say.
‘Distracted,’ Atlas says.
‘Uninterested,’ I correct. ‘Inattentive, agitated, completely unlike yourself.’
‘Since we left Bletchley, I’ve been questioning everything,’ Atlas says. ‘My role in this war, on this island, in this life.’
‘This is about the priesthood, isn’t it?’
Atlas hesitates, his brown eyes searching mine. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, go on, King,’ I say, folding my arms. ‘I’m listening.’
‘You know I’ve always thought that priesthood is my vocation. The thing I’m called to?’
I nod.
‘Well, sometimes I wonder if I’m drawn to it so much because it’s a way of hiding away – with my books and my prayers – and of loving quietly.
Priests say Mass, counsel people, pray for them.
They get to be good without necessarily being called to anything dangerous, like, say, soldiers are.
Being sent to Bletchley Park ripped me away from that quietness, forced me into the rebellion in a new way, no longer on the sidelines but in the middle of the battle.
’ He swallows. ‘And then I met you. And no amount of prayer could help me work out what that meant. Now, I can’t imagine going back to seminarian school, or staying a rebel soldier. ’
‘No?’ I breathe.
‘No,’ he replies. ‘Every future I imagine, Viv, is with you.’
We’re still kneeling among the rockpools when he kisses me. I sink against the cliff face as he leans in, my fists full of sand. His hands cup either side of my face and his mouth trails fiery kisses from my lips to my neck and back again. He tastes of salt and tobacco.
‘Vocare,’ I whisper.
‘Hmm?’ Atlas murmurs against my mouth.
‘Vocation is from the Latin vocare. And vocare doesn’t just mean calling, Atlas. It means to designate. To choose.’
He nods. ‘It means I can decide. I realised that down in the tunnels. Aodahn’s egg was his because he chose it, and God wants me to choose my vocation. It’s—’
A spine-tingling roar erupts from the tent. We jump apart.
‘I have to go,’ I say, scrambling to my feet. I brush the sand from my trousers. ‘When you cut out the detonator, whatever you do, do not drop it.’
Atlas rubs his rosy face and gives me a hurried nod. I take one more look at him, at his glistening lips and the swallow on his arm, then step out on to the sand. Ralph drops his helmet when he sees me. He blinks and scans the beach.
‘I’m alone,’ I say.
His eyes narrow suspiciously. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘The rebels have lost,’ I reply. ‘Wyvernmire has seized London and soon the Bulgarian dragons will discard her to take the rest of the country, just like you said they would. So I’m here to make the best of the situation.
To help you listen to Goranov using the loquisonus machine, in exchange for a place in the new world.
I’d rather see my family enslaved than dead. ’
A smile spreads across Ralph’s lips. ‘You said echolocation was untranslatable.’
‘It is. But you don’t always need to translate a language to understand it. Sometimes, you just need a few lessons from the source. And I happen to be friends with a Bulgarian dragon.’
Ralph’s smirk grows wider. ‘Where’s the machine?’
‘I’ve hidden it,’ I reply. ‘I’ll go and get it, if you promise to let me go once you have the information you need.’
Guardian voices sound from the other side of the tent. Ralph pulls the flap of the tent open for me. ‘Inside, quickly.’
I hesitate. This wasn’t part of the plan, but I don’t dare glance back at where Atlas is hiding.
Instead, I step inside. The light is disorienting, extending in great, blinding beams from giant, battery-powered torches that only a ship could have brought in.
Ralph follows me in as my eyes adjust. The tent’s sides rise up to a singular point, like a teepee or a circus tent, and thick, metal chains dangle down from the top.
I blink, trying to comprehend what I’m seeing. Ralph steps in behind me and I feel his hand land assuredly on the small of my back. The hairs on my neck rise as his lips brush against my ear.
‘Say hello to your friend.’
I sway, nausea rising in my stomach.
Caught in the chains, her wings stretched out like a crucifixion, is Chumana.