Chapter 9
Noah didn’t know what to do after that argument. Portia’s opinion of his dreams of finding the great dragons stung. While he certainly wasn’t going to apologise this time, he knew he’d said things he regretted. Maybe she had as well. But still…
Portia had locked herself away, consumed with her work, taking her meals in the lab probably so as to avoid him.
She didn’t appear until late the next day with the first sample of the dry scale cream, coming into Iris’s office while they were discussing supplies for the next month.
There were shadows under her eyes, and he wondered if she’d spent all night concocting it or whether the magic used in the process had exhausted her.
Maybe both. He wouldn’t put anything past Portia Starling if she thought she had something to prove.
He couldn’t ask, not after everything and he was pretty sure she would take any kind of questioning as an attack.
So, he said nothing. He was only an employee after all.
She had made that perfectly clear. He got to his feet and stood to one side when she appeared.
To his surprise, she handed the small glass jar of silky cream over to him and she sank into the seat opposite Iris, with something like relief.
Or maybe triumph. Nervous, grumpy, exhausted triumph.
He opened the jar and poked at it experimentally.
It was definitely richer than the product Noah was used to, and delicately fragranced with something he couldn’t quite place.
He handed the jar to Iris, feeling a little uncomfortable that she had given it to him first. Like she needed vindication.
‘I tested it on some discarded skin in the first instant, rather than a live dragon’ – that was definitely a carefully directed barb – ‘and the results, even on dead skin, were remarkable. Look.’ She unfolded a slip of paper she’d brought with her on the desk to reveal a gleaming patch of dragon skin.
It was soft and supple rather than brittle.
Shed skin usually fell to dust in no time at all, but this was still intact.
And the condition was superb. Even he had to admit that.
‘And you followed Art’s recipe exactly?’ Iris asked, her tone keen with interest as she peered at the skin.
‘Every step of the way,’ she assured her great-aunt. ‘I even found the exact patches of plants he used in the forest. He’d marked the location and everything.’
‘Well,’ Iris said with a fond smile. ‘Art always was very thorough in his notes.’ She was rubbing the cream between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes closed, as if she could tell by touch alone if it was correctly made. Perhaps she could. ‘And the focus?’
That was the magical element, Iris had explained to Noah when they had discussed the process – more calmly than was possible with Portia present.
He hated the thought that any medication needed it, but when the animals themselves had a connection to the magical he supposed it made sense.
Disrupt that, Iris insisted, and the effects could be devastating.
At least she was happy to explain rather than fly off the handle.
‘On a smooth and swift separation,’ Portia replied. ‘It was no challenge. It felt entirely natural, if I’m honest. But then magical workings always do here. Like dipping into deep water.’
They talked about it as if it was an everyday fact of life. Perhaps it was for them. Here on the island.
Noah hung back, shifting from foot to foot and watching the exchange warily. He really didn’t know what to say. Her words about his plans to leave as soon as possible were not wrong. But it had made him feel like he was abandoning them here. And perhaps he was.
But that had always been the plan, hadn’t it? Iris knew it. He knew it. He was here to gather as much information as possible and then move on. And if some of that information was to make it back to people with questions of their own about dragons, and the Starlings, that wasn’t his fault, was it?
He swallowed hard, remembering the deal.
It all felt a bit sour now. He had not shared that with Iris.
He hadn’t expected the experience here to be quite so familial.
Iris treated people the way the dragons did, gathering them close and making them an everyday part of her life.
It felt… well, it felt good. Like he’d found a new home.
Silly really. This wasn’t his home. Portia had made that clear. Just when he thought that working together was going rather well. But then, he’d been the one to announce his intention to leave as soon as something better came along. Him and his big mouth.
Jade flitted happily across the table, poking at the various objects and piles of paper in case there was some kind of treat to be had.
He held out his hand to her and she alighted gently, sniffing him in that queenly manner of hers.
Her dry scales were still there, which he hoped meant Portia had not tested it on the little dragon.
If she had, it had not had any effect and he doubted that she would be presenting it to them if that was the case.
She’d looked so horrified when he suggested it might endanger her dragon. At least there was that. It hadn’t occurred to her, that was the problem. And he didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.
The question remained though: how else were they going to test the balm?
And why did neither Portia nor Iris seem to think there was a need to carry out any kind of tests at all before using it on the dragons?
Magic was second nature to them. This was an old family recipe, with magical elements, handed down by dragonkind, but that was not reason enough to throw caution to the winds.
‘So, what do we do now?’ he asked.
Portia shot him a withering glare. Perhaps she’d forgotten he was there. Or just wished he wasn’t. It shouldn’t sting but it did.
‘We use it. Carefully. A little at a time, on a test group. You continue treating a control group with Fittbly’s for now and we compare results. If we see any complications we stop immediately and take remedial action. I do know how to do this, Dr Turner.’
Not Noah. She refused to call him Noah now. She was determined to keep the distance between them. That shouldn’t feel like a blow either, but it did. Damn. At the same time, he couldn’t blame her.
‘Beginning with Jade?’ he went on warily. That was the part of this plan he really didn’t like, testing it on a living creature.
‘I know her best. I’m with her all the time. I’ll see any reaction the minute it happens. I will be checking.’
Unfortunately, that made sense. And it wasn’t really his decision to make.
Besides, she was right, there wasn’t really any other way forward but to test it.
He had to admit that the Fittbly’s was not working, no matter how many applications he applied to the increasing number of dragons with dry scale.
That was the problem with the disease. It started small but once it took hold in a flight, it spread quickly and for rescue dragons it could become extremely debilitating.
It was Iris’s sanctuary. And her decision. He waited, watching the elderly woman as she sniffed the cream as if it was some kind of epicurean delicacy.
‘Very well,’ she said at last, getting to her feet, the discussion and dinner apparently over. ‘Begin a test group, and Portia?’
Her great-niece looked up at her warily. ‘Yes?’
‘Play nice.’ Then she glanced at Noah with those gimlet eyes, as if she could see right inside him. ‘Both of you. I’m going out to Margery’s for tea. Don’t wait up.’
They waited until she had left the room. Noah cleared his throat.
‘If you’re going to apologise again, please don’t bother,’ said Portia. ‘We can work together without the niceties, I’m sure. I really cannot take another argument. I’ve had enough bad news for one day.’
Noah didn’t want to be thought completely transparent but he had been about to apologise again. It was the gentlemanly thing to do and a peace offering. The words died in his throat.
That was when he noticed the letter she had hastily shoved in the pocket of her jacket. ‘What happened?’
‘A formal complaint about me has been lodged with the Academy. By the queen. Well, by her personal secretary. Guess who that is?’
He didn’t need to guess. He knew. Lady Virginia Moorland.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, the words out before he thought about it.
Not an apology though. More like commiserations.
Portia inhaled deeply and he wondered for a moment if she would scream at him.
Or burst into tears. She did neither, simply held the breath for a long moment and then released it in a rush.
He watched her push away her personal struggle and slip on the mask of professionalism instead.
‘We should get to work.’ She opened the large notebook she had brought with her and began to jot down notes. ‘Jade first, and then who else do you suggest for the trial? Rusty?’
Once again, Noah reflected, actually working with Portia was an unexpectedly pleasant experience.
She was efficient, careful and detail orientated, a scientist through and through.
The dragons – Jade, Glitter, Rusty, and a Lakeland blue they called Ripple – were all to be weighed, measured, their conditions meticulously documented.
Portia closed her eyes and held Glitter first to get a thaumaturgical reading.
Noah bit his lip on that and of course she noticed that too.
‘You have something to say?’
He did. He just wasn’t sure it was a good idea.
‘What does it feel like?’ he asked instead.
‘Like a shiver beneath my skin. Like electricity, or a frisson, you know? Like when you hear beautiful music. Sometimes it’s like music itself.’
‘Can you – can you do anything with it?’
Portia opened one eye and gave him a haughty look Jade would have been proud of. ‘It’s not about party tricks, Dr Turner.’