Darwin's Dragons

by Lindsay Galvin

  With a curt nod, barely acknowledging our deep bows, Queen Victoria disappeared beneath her lace parasol and walked at a clipped pace back to her retinue.

  Mr Darwin’s eyebrows had disappeared beneath the rim of his top hat. He lowered his voice as we made our way back to the carriage.

  ‘You will not undermine me in that way again, Covington. Do you understand?’ he said, his voice quiet but not at all soft.

  I swallowed and dropped my chin. ‘I am sorry, sir.’

  The silence felt heavy and desperate between us.

  ‘Where do you think the carriage she sends will take us?’ I asked.

  ‘I have no idea, Covington. But we will find out soon enough.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  On the day following our visit to the Zoological Society and the bizarre meeting with the Queen, Mr Darwin and I worked in his study, silent. For once, it did not feel like the calm quiet of two people long used to being holed up with just each other for company. Mr Darwin did not look up at me at all, and tugged his whiskers more than usual. I wanted to beg him again, to do anything he could to get the dragons back to the Galapagos. With his naval connections, with his standing in the Royal Society, my young master was becoming an important man. But I’d asked him already, the answer had been clear, and I’d been chided for my insolence. It was past four when I received the message from the keepers at the Zoological Park that we were needed immediately. They didn’t say why.

  ‘It’s Quartz,’ I said.

  Mr Darwin gathered his hat and cane.

  ‘You don’t know that, dear boy,’ he said softly. I hoped he was right.

  He was not.

  I felt it in the soupy afternoon fog, I heard it in the roll of the carriage wheels, I saw it in the grim face of the warden as he opened the gates.

  We detected the dragon calls as we passed the other quiet enclosures, a whining sound, high and tragic.

  I quickened my step.

  The keeper’s eyes were red rimmed. ‘We don’t know what to do with them; we can’t get them away from Quartz. We thought we should send for you, before we . . . Farthing has simply been pacing the bars. I’ve never seen them show any sign of aggression before this but now – she . . . she’s warning us off.’

  I nodded and stepped into the enclosure.

  ‘Covington, I think . . .’

  Mr Darwin trailed off. I would never be afraid of Farthing.

  The dragons were mounded around Quartz, bundled together like when they slept, in a tangled ball. They were keening – a high-pitched drawn-out whine, a sound to put your teeth on edge, to twang the strings of your heart. Farthing was the only one who stood outside of the group. Mr Darwin was by my side, but when Farthing flicked around and snarled at him, he stumbled back against the bars.

  ‘My word,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll go in on my own, sir.’

  He nodded.

  I approached Farthing. She growled and darted at me, grabbing my shirt sleeve and jerking hard. The thin cotton ripped off in her mouth. I stood my ground and her growl turned into a mournful drone. I was taken back to the lava tunnel, when she’d led me to rescue the eggs as the volcano erupted. She wanted me to follow her now.

  I approached the dragons, who were nudging Quartz with their snouts. At his head, fish had been laid out on the mud, all untouched. Sixpence picked up a fish in her jaws and gently nudged it at her brother. Quartz’s head slipped off his front claw on to the mud.

  You’d think a sleeping creature and a dead creature would be very similar, but there was every difference. A light had gone out. My heart was a lead weight, plummeting.

  Quartz was already gone, but it didn’t stop me shuffling forward on to my knees in the mud, to hold my hand against his snout, praying for his hot breath to warm my palm.

  My hand became colder. I was cold all over. I swallowed back the urge to vomit.

  I removed my hand and bowed my head, as tears seeped from my tight-closed eyes. Farthing growled so loud, my deaf ear rang. She picked up my hand softly, but firmly, in her jaw and laid it back on Quartz’s head.

  Farthing manoeuvred so her snout almost met mine, her copper eyes blinking, ruff of scales flattened back. She growled again, trailing into a whimper, and the others joined in with a cacophony of whines, and mournful howls. Quartz’s lifeless body trembled with their nudges and his one white claw sunk out of sight, into the London mud.

  When I took my hand from his head again, Farthing snarled and tried to snatch it up. She didn’t understand.

  I’d saved the eggs from the volcano; I’d saved them all. She believed I could save Quartz now.

  I placed my hands either side of her wedge-shaped face as she whined and pawed the ground.

  ‘You know I would if I could,’ I whispered.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  With Mr Darwin’s guiding hand on my shoulder, I was eventually persuaded to leave the dragon enclosure. The dragons continued to mourn Quartz for a full day, and then took turns to guard his body for another. Finally, Quartz’s body could be removed, and the enclosure was quiet. The dragons continued their normal routine, the two who had become listless remained listless. The others sometimes played with each other, and caught fish. But Farthing now paced the bars for hours at a time. She did not return to how she was before. I was able to visit more often as Mr Darwin was studying Jenny the orangutan, but my being there didn’t calm Farthing. She tugged at my sleeve, she whined, growled, hooted. She still believed I could do something.

  Mr Darwin and I spent our days in silence, him absorbed with his new notes on ape behaviour. I could not even be cheered by the violin. I had to find a way to rescue Farthing and the others. Quartz was gone. Who would be next?

  I couldn’t even think it might be Farthing, my heart wouldn’t let me. But they were in London Zoological Park, guarded night and day. And even if I could – no. It was impossible, and I felt sick to my bones.

  I couldn’t even take some time with my maudlin. Mr Darwin and I had an appointment with the Queen.

  A black carriage drew up outside our lodgings just before nine p.m., as arranged. A grim sort of fellow, older than both of us put together and sporting an outmoded bushy grey moustache, ushered us in to the plain but rich interior without a word. The carriage had thick velvet curtains, so it felt like being inside a black box. It was lit inside by a swinging oil lamp, and I flashed back to the buccaneer in the cave. How many nights had he spent in utter darkness, beneath the boat, alone? I thought I’d rather be there than here, watching the dragons die, slowly, with nothing I could do.

  Neither Darwin nor I spoke, he seemed as lost in thought as I was. Our destination had something to do with the dragons, that was all we knew. The idea of Farthing and the others under the Queen’s protection gave me the jitters. It was probably some form of treason to even think that I did not totally trust the young queen, but it was the truth.

  The carriage was heading out of the city. After a silent journey of around twenty minutes, the road beneath the carriage became rougher and we gripped the handrails. Mr Darwin’s eyes widened in alarm and I gave him the smallest of smiles. For once, I was not prepared for his motion sickness, and did not fancy giving him my tweed cap for the purpose. The carriage soon drew to a halt, and our driver opened the door and ushered us out. We were on a bare stretch of land, the moon lighting a low building and what looked like a tower, similar to those found at a mine. There was also another carriage, much larger than ours and with a trailer attached behind, on which rested a large crate, plain black.

  ‘What is our location, sir?’ said Mr Darwin to the driver.

  ‘I have my orders, mister. You are requested to enter the mine. I am instructed to tell you it is perfectly safe, but to say no more. If you do not wish to enter the choice is yours and I am to return you forthwith, sir,’ said the guard.

  Mr Darwin and I looked at each other, although there was no question. I was heading underground for the first time since
I had rescued the eggs.

  We swung the oil lamps as we followed another silent man through the wide underground tunnel. My heart thumped and sweat beaded cool on my forehead as I recalled the last time I had been underground, racing against the boiling lapping tongue of lava; I still sported the scars to my legs.

  The tunnel was not far from the surface with walls of damp pale chalk. It was wide and reached high, like the lava tubes, but it was much more cool and dank. Water dripped from the ceiling, and I wondered if Mr Darwin might know where we were, because there could not be so many disused mine workings such a short distance from London. The man led us through winding tunnels, all large and high, until noises could be heard. The echoes grew louder, and I recognized a female voice and something else.

  A hoot! The dragons. How? It didn’t matter. Not a growl, not a whine, but a joyful hoot, and a splash of water. I had not heard the dragons make such a sound in so long, I grinned and began to run, overtaking the man leading us, following the hoots and splashes. Around the next corner, I stopped in amazement. A wave of heat hit my face. Large braziers in wrought iron cages lit the area, like small bonfires lining the walls, red-hot coals illuminating a huge hollow in the centre. Iron bars and a gate covered the entrance, and inside was a giant pool, ten times the size of the muddy puddle at the Zoological Society, and surrounded by rocks. Only three of the dragons were there, one swimming, head above water, one rolling in the shallows and a third curled beneath a brazier of red coals.

  ‘On my word—’ exclaimed Mr Darwin.

  ‘It’s, it’s . . .’ I stumbled over my words. The red coals, the rocks, the darkness. It was the closest thing I’d seen to the Galapagos caves.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  A small neat figure stepped out of the shadows. This time Queen Victoria wore stout boots, a long black cape and a large old-fashioned bonnet, that shadowed and sharpened her features. Two uniformed men and an older lady stood behind her. Her Majesty broke into a controlled smile.

  Mr Darwin and I immediately removed our hats, bowing low before our queen. How could she be here? She was the Queen. And I supposed that was why she was here; she could be exactly where she liked.

  ‘You are pleased with my dragons’ new lodgings?’ she said, her clipped voice echoing around the caves.

  ‘Your Majesty, I—’

  She gave Mr Darwin a dismissive wave and stepped towards me, head cocked to one side.

  ‘Mr Covington, I was most perplexed to hear the news about poor dear Quartz. A beautiful animal. Please tell me – and you must be honest now – is this of any approximation to the environment the lizards experienced on their native Narborough Island?’

  I clutched the rim of my cap so hard it crumpled. The Queen of England wanted my opinion. The cave was still damp, the rocks were not volcanic, they could not roam . . . but compared to the enclosure at the Zoological Society . . .

  I replied, ‘Yes, ma’am. Yes, it is.’

  A flame of hope bloomed in my chest. I wanted to trust her. I needed someone to help me save them.

  ‘Ma’am, can I ask where Farthing is?’

  The Queen explained that she had only transported three to start with, to trial the new environment. Farthing had refused to leave the others. She smiled, and then questioned me again, about the temperature, the darkness of the cave in which the lizard eggs had been found, and about the behaviour I had witnessed from Farthing on the island. Mr Darwin stayed silent. All the while I could barely resist watching the animals. I recognized Sixpence, Magma and Basalt. Sixpence played in the water, and Magma and Basalt inspected the braziers. They had not been so animated in over a year, and I told Her Majesty so.

  She clapped her hands in delight.

  ‘I see you are keen to greet them,’ she said, and removed a key from a pouch at her belt. ‘Only I and a guard will have a copy of this key, but Mr Darwin may keep a key to the mine entrance,’ she said. I felt a blast of chill, even as the heat inside the cave rose. This was a private secret place, under the Queen’s full control, unlike the Zoological Park, which was in the public eye.

  I waded around the outside of the pool, with no care for my boots or trousers. I knelt before Sixpence under the brazier, and the heat tickled my cheeks.

  The dragon opened her eyes, and there was no sign of the dull film that I had seen at the zoological park. I held out my hand and Sixpence butted it gently.

  The Queen was behind me. Bonnet removed, sturdy boots and gaiters beneath her long skirts, tucked high above the water. I could not believe I was wading in a cave pool with the English monarch.

  She passed me a sardine, and I threw it for Sixpence. I thought of the young dragon’s magnificent mother, swooping golden through the Galapagos skies.

  These animals were not made for cheap circus tricks.

  ‘So, you see they are already better,’ said Queen Victoria. She whistled and Basalt, the largest male, swam towards the Queen, rolling on his belly and then surfacing next to her with a chirp. He sat back on his haunches and she held out a scrap of fish. She whistled again and he nodded towards the fish, but she withheld it.

  Then Basalt whined back to her in the same tone.

  The Queen’s laugh rang high through the cave, echoing, and Basalt raised his ruff, and hooted.

  Could now be the time to tell Her Majesty the truth about what they were? She cared for the dragons. If I told her, she could help them. Even if this place made them well again, there would be a new problem. They would grow, and grow.

  I remembered the mother dragon spouting fire.

  ‘I taught him that, Covington,’ said the Queen, ‘he only learnt it when I found out he adores a smoked sardine, the naughty brute. Of course, these beasts are no patch on my dogs. They may be as intelligent, yet not nearly so amenable, even to their queen and protector,’ she said.

  And with that, I knew I could not tell her. She saw them as brutes and beasts, and I had no evidence, nothing to prove what they truly were. They did these tricks to please us, not themselves. This cave was still a prison, the Queen’s prison, but a prison nonetheless. The Queen was annoyed by Quartz’s death. Annoyed was not how I felt, or how Farthing and the others felt, it was not the same as heartbroken.

  I looked sideways at the Queen’s young face, a cheek as smooth and pale as marble. Her small soft hands in their dark gloves, a girl tended by an army of maids since birth. What was she doing here?

  I thought I understood. As a child, she had barely left the palace, she was known to have been kept closeted at Kensington and to have been so enraged by her strict upbringing she sent her own mother away after her coronation. Now she was Queen and could go where she liked. What would I do, if I were her?

  I would do exactly what took my fancy. And these exotic animals took her fancy, nothing more.

  ‘I have arranged to have the rest of the dragons relocated here tonight. Only I, members of my retinue and you and Mr Darwin will be permitted to enter until they are fully themselves again.’

  I wished I could have some of her confidence.

  Mr Darwin stepped forward. ‘Your Majesty. The Zoological Society—’

  ‘The Zoological Society were keeping these animals in great discomfort, a veritable mire of mud and stink, and one has already died,’ she said, chin raised. ‘Are they of more value to Science alive or dead, Mr Darwin?’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  It was a note from the London Zoological Society that drove me to search out the storm drain leading to the river.

  When Mr Darwin opened the envelope, his shoulders slumped.

  ‘Oh. That is disappointing news,’ he said.

  I looked up, questioning.

  ‘I’m afraid Jenny the orangutan has died.’

  I put down my pen, remembering how the little ape had capered about, playing with my handkerchief. Mr Darwin rubbed his forehead.

  ‘That is sad,’ I said, my throat tightening, ‘what . . . happened?’

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t
say. She seemed quite healthy when I saw her last. She was a fascinating study and quite diverting. Still – all is not lost, as they are shipping in a new specimen, a young male by the name of Tommy,’ said Mr Darwin, and turned back to his work.

  Jenny. All that time Mr Darwin had spent studying her, yet her death was simply inconvenient. The time for moping around was over.

  I needed to get bricky.

  I clutched the handle of the stinking bucket, gulping deep breaths through my nose, but the smell still made my eyes water. The rain had not let up, but I was glad, although surprised the stink made it through the downpour which soaked my cloak and squelched in my boots and gaiters. I had left the mackerel to turn next to the stove and Mrs Harvey had almost killed me for the stench, but half-rotten mackerel and sardines were now the only foods that would make the dragons take notice.

  I rolled my shoulders back, and forced myself to think about Farthing, and how she had been when I had last seen her a week ago. Patrolling the same track back and forth in front of the bars, wearing a path into the soft chalk. All the dragons had taken up some form of repeating movement. Magma and Granite paced a complete circuit of the cave, avoiding Farthing. Basalt scratched repeatedly at the base of his tail and the scales had cracked and fallen away, leaving the skin raw. Sixpence had worn away the scales on one side of her ruff by rubbing the same part over and over against the hot brazier.

  At first the dragons had thrived, as our queen had insisted they would. She continued to visit her favourites regularly, which I guessed felt like a fine adventure to her, away from palace life. The mine became more comfortable with each of her visits, the chalk walls whitewashed and set with oil lamps, and rush matting placed underfoot along the tunnels. For nearly half a year the lizards had improved and all grew to the size of Great Danes, but then this new behavioural sickness had started, and it had happened quickly. The Queen refused to accept it, still believing that she had found the answer in her mine enclosure. When Basalt’s wound at the base of his tail began to weep, she became angry, blaming the keepers for not attending to him.