That was the last time Queen Victoria had visited. The mines became dull and deserted, with only one keeper, and a guard at the gates.
Her Majesty still corresponded with Mr Darwin and I persuaded him to let me write to her myself, suggesting once again that the dragons be relocated back to the Galapagos on the next survey ship. He wearily agreed. By this time, Mr Darwin had begun courting his cousin, Emma Wedgwood, and was likely to soon be admitted to the esteemed Geological Society. He was working on his Journal of the Beagle Voyage, which would be published the following year, and gave regular talks in the top levels of scientific society. He was making the name for himself that he needed to publish his ongoing work, what he called his Big Idea, which seemed to make him awful jittery, in a way I wasn’t sure was good for his health. I was curious about this secretive project, and gathered his writings were to do with differences between animals, relating to where they lived, and why some animals survived but others did not. He continued to correspond regularly with Mrs Whitby about her silkworms, and visited other animal breeders. The stuffed Galapagos finches now took pride of place on his desk, and he looked at them often as he frantically scribbled.
More than anything, I feared Farthing and the others would end up as nothing more than a footnote in his studies.
The Queen replied to my letter.
Dear Mr Covington,
In response to your recent correspondence, I am afraid your suggestion remains impossible. I would like to personally commend you on your commitment to their welfare, but these animals will remain safely under my protectorate in perpetuity. I know you will respect my wishes on this matter.
Victoria R.
I wished I had not written. Now I had the Queen’s wishes in writing, if I disobeyed . . . it would be treason. I didn’t even know what happened to people who committed treason nowadays. In the old days, they’d have their head on a spike on Tower Bridge. I did know it would be a scandal and would affect Mr Darwin’s reputation as my master.
Sometimes I was overcome with doubt.
But when I faltered, I thought of Quartz. And Jenny.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I drew out the key and unlocked the gate set in the bars at the main entrance to the mine, and the damp mossy scent of the cold darkness hit me. I lit the oil lamp that was left by the gate. Mr Darwin had not visited the caves in over a month and had given me free access to the key.
This was down to me, alone.
And tonight was the night for it. The rain had been belting down for days with no sign of stopping, and much of the caves were flooded, which was exactly what I needed.
I felt a surge of hope. The waters were higher than I’d ever seen them, and it felt like a good sign when I reached the level of the main tunnel and the water lapped at my knees. I waded on to the gate. The dragons were all underwater, floating on their fronts with only their nostrils above the surface. The guard sat on a ledge opposite the barred cavern, smoking a noxious-smelling pipe.
I was relieved to see it was Hallam, the eldest of the team of four guards, all men whose families had worked for the Royals for generations and the Queen had known since childhood. They now worked alone.
I cleared my throat so as not to startle him, but the sound of the water drowned it out. I walked a little closer.
‘Evening Mr Hallam, sir,’ I said.
The older man did startle, and then slid down from the ledge in the wall that had been cut so the guards would have someplace dry to sit when the caves were wet. He tipped his cap.
‘Covington. You really should not be here at this hour. And in this weather. You’ll catch your death, boy.’
I shrugged. I liked to release my Bedford accent when talking to the guards alone, and to act my real age. I thanked my lucky stars again that it was old Hallam on duty that night.
‘Couldn’t sleep, Mr Hallam, sir. You know how afeared I get. I brought the dragons their titbits.’
Hallam nodded, his mutton-chop whiskers seeming to droop a little lower, and a drip from the roof splatted on his cap so he looked up and caught another on his cheek.
‘There’s no change. They are all in the water, not like they have a lot of choice. The braziers are lit and are above the storm surge, but they don’t seem to pay them much notice no more. This flood will soon drain.’
I reached into my cloak, pulled out my hipflask and pretended to take a swig, giving an appreciative shudder. I caught Hallam’s envious eye, as I had hoped I would.
‘Sorry, Mr Hallam, I should have offered to you first.’
‘Ah no, my boy, the Queen gives express orders that no liquor be taken on duty.’
I nodded. ‘Well, it’s not exactly liquor, Mr Hallam. It’s a tonic wine my mam used to swear by to ward off the damp. It might contain a drop of liquor but it ain’t the main ingredient, sir. But, can’t go against Her Majesty’s wishes – ’course not.’
I shrugged and took another faked sip, but before I had slipped it back into my pocket, Hallam huffed a huge cloud of smoke and reached out for the flask.
‘I’d say Mother Mary herself wouldn’t deny an old man a sip of tonic wine on a night such as this.’
He tipped in a large slug, coughed, and closed his eyes in pleasure.
‘It’s a very healthful concoction, sir,’ I said.
‘I would agree with you there, young Covington. A tonic indeed.’
The man took another gulp without removing his clay pipe.
‘Oh, that is mighty warming. Your good mother must have . . . do give me the . . .’
The man’s words grew thick and trailed off. His pipe dropped from his mouth, and I darted behind him and grabbed him under the armpits as he slumped, lowering him safely on to his ledge. The apothecary had said to measure out the sleeping drops exactly, and I’d calculated that as long as the guard did not take more than two slugs, the tincture couldn’t harm him. He’d fallen quickly, as he was slight of build, but the ledge was high enough he would be safe from the flood.
I fetched his pipe and propped it next to him. Then I liberated him of his keys.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
The dragons were too big now for me to even imagine hiding them or smuggling them away. Further along the main tunnel of the mine, past the dragons’ enclosure, I’d found a drainage pipe. It was big enough for me to crawl through on hands and knees, and led to the main storm drain that must serve this whole area. I knew right away that it was their only chance of escape. I’d removed the grate that covered the drainage pipe and climbed into the main storm drain, which was at least ten foot wide, and a tube not so different from the lava tubes of Narborough – aside from the surging water, the damp and the cold.
So many risks. One chance.
I unlocked the gate and hauled it open, water gushing between the bars. The air was warm inside the dragons’ enclosure, the braziers smouldering. Farthing stopped her swimming back and forth along the bars and nudged my hand. She, and the other stronger lizards, understood immediately, as I knew they would. I threw the bucket of rancid fish into the water and Basalt, Magma and Farthing gulped some down. The remaining lizards continued floating, uninterested in the food, but Farthing, Basalt and Magma grabbed pieces in their jaws and nudged at their brothers and sisters with it. The other dragons started to raise their heads above water and take the food. I felt a strange tightness in my chest. What creature cared for its siblings like this? I wished Mr Darwin were here to see it. To see them one last time.
To see me one last time.
Although, if he were here, he’d stop me. Instead, he was safe in his bedchamber – he hadn’t woken when I’d left, he wasn’t following me.
The movement in the cave was frantic now. The dragons paddled around in a circle and by the dim red light of the braziers, I could not see what the commotion was about. With the water up to my chest and the beat of their powerful tails – they were now the size of young crocodiles – I was feared I’d be dragged under, and could only watch f
rom the wall of the cave where the water was a little more shallow. There was an orchestra of calls, hoots, whines and grunts, then it fell silent. Copper eyes glowed in the light of the brazier, tails batted from side to side. They were miracle creatures, as intelligent as any the world had seen. In their strange language, they had told each other something I would never understand. I fixed a picture of them in my head; my heart aching at my own loss.
Basalt led the way and was out of the gate before I had registered what was happening. The others followed, filing out behind him, butting gently at each other as they disappeared through the gate.
Farthing was last. I followed the others up the tunnel to see where they were going, and it was as I had hoped, they were following the floodwater. Could they smell the freedom of the storm drain, maybe even the open river at the end of it?
My heart pounding, I leant against the wall for a moment. Hallam would be out for a while. I was setting the dragons free into an uncertain world. Well, uncertain was better than certain death.
The Queen had made her wishes very clear. Already, I had committed treason.
I counted the dragons as they passed. Six. I had somehow known that Farthing would wait, that she would not leave without saying goodbye. But another one was missing.
They were at the very back of the cave. Farthing was circling the last, who was floating with only her nostrils above the water. The smallest. Sixpence. The others had been travelling fast, they had gone, but this changed everything. Sixpence had been burning herself at the brazier, maybe the wound had turned rank, poisoning her blood.
‘Go, Farthing, leave her. I will take care of her,’ I said.
I grabbed Farthing around the shoulders and tried to shift her, but she growled. She would not leave her sister.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
I waded to Sixpence and grasped her around the neck. Her eyes flicked open in recognition, then closed again.
‘You can do this. I know you can,’ I said.
I skimmed off a handful of the noxious fish I’d thrown in, and held it cupped in my hand to the dragon’s nose. Farthing hooted, as if in approval and encouragement, and Sixpence’s nostrils flared. Her tongue licked at the mess. She grunted, and hope rose in my chest. I needed to act quickly, not think about how far the others had already gone. I fed her more scooped handfuls of fishy mess, and then grasped her whole body in my arms. Sixpence didn’t struggle. I carried her out of the cave and waded into the floodwater that was now up to my thighs in the mine tunnel. Farthing swam ahead of us, staying close. I made out a faint sound.
Hooting, distant. I wasn’t imagining it; I turned my head to hear it with my good ear. I placed Sixpence in the water, and she swam. I waded behind her and Farthing, all the way to the access pipe opening. The hoots were coming from inside.
The water was flowing into the pipe at my knee level, sucking at my legs. Sixpence disappeared into the darkness, half swimming, half walking. Farthing waited, paddling against the flow, watching me.
‘I can’t come with you,’ I said.
She whined.
I stripped off my jacket and pulled off my boots. I needed to get her to the main storm drain and the others.
‘Go on then,’ I said, ‘I’m right behind you.’
I crawled into the access pipe after her on my hands and knees, the water coming up to my elbows and flowing fast.
The other dragons had gathered at the end of the pipe, waiting where the water from the cave tumbled a small waterfall into the huge main storm drain, a churning underground river. As soon as the dragons joined this surge, they would be swept all the way to the Thames. Would they survive it?
I surveyed their strong green-scaled bodies, their copper eyes shining in the dark. They weren’t like other animals. They were young dragons. If anything could survive this escape, they could.
The other option was to leave them pacing, trapped, their minds tortured . . . and that was wrong.
I had taken them as eggs, brought them here into danger, and now my only choice was to release them into more danger. Would it be better if I had never taken the eggs in the first place? No. They would have been caught in the solidifying lava, trapped for ever, like flies in amber or one of Mr Darwin’s fossils. The dragons huddled together, sniffing at the air, watching the storm surge go by. Waiting.
Waiting for Farthing, who was still by my side.
I crouched, so her head was level with mine. She moved forward and pressed her snout to my forehead and gave the softest hoot, turning into a whine, then a mournful rumbling growl. I held the back of her neck and tried to fix this moment in my mind. The feel of her scales, the heat of her breath, the flash of her eyes.
‘Travel safe, Farthing. All of you. Stay bricky,’ I said, choked.
The dragons stopped hooting and shuffled, edging towards the storm drain, sniffing at the air.
‘Go,’ I said, trying to keep the quiver from my voice. I waved my arm.
Farthing stared up at me.
‘Go,’ I said again, more forcefully. Farthing hooted, and the first two dragons jumped into the main storm drain and were swept away. Farthing hooted again, and the rest followed.
Her brothers and sisters would quickly be swept away.
‘Farthing, you have to go. Now,’ I said. I nudged her side and she growled. She didn’t want to leave, but how could she care so much for me? When had I come to deserve that? I remembered her mother, that terrifying golden sky beast. Even though she had feared for her eggs, she did not kill me – she allowed me to stay alive, giving me a chance to leave her and her young alone. These animals sensed we were intelligent just as they were, they valued human life.
But Farthing needed to be with her own kind. And they needed her. I pushed her flank, harder with both hands, but she dug her claws into the rock – and then I felt something under her scales, above her shoulder, a hard ridge that had not been there before. I felt again.
Wings.
Farthing was becoming a dragon.
I imagined her golden and magnificent as her mother. In London, caged.
She needed to be somewhere she could fly.
Be bricky.
I waded to where the pipe flowed into the storm drain. A tug at my gaiters, Farthing had me in her jaws, hauling me back from the edge.
I grabbed her snout in my hand and prised the oilcloth of my gaiter free, then summoned all my strength and yelled with everything I had, ‘Go, now. You can’t stay here. I don’t want you!’
The dragon stepped back in surprise, lifting one claw. I had never raised my voice to her.
Farthing whined once, her ruff laid flat. I turned my back on her.
I heard her drop into the surge of the storm drain below. Gone.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
‘All of them got away?’ said Mr Darwin.
I nodded, and my teeth chattered. I was still shivering, despite the heat of the stove, the blankets wrapped tight around me and the mug of sweet tea in my hands. I had walked most of the night to end up back at Mr Darwin’s lodgings just before dawn, although I knew it was selfish to bring him into this. I’d thought to run away, but no further than that. I was so heart-sore, and had nowhere else to go.
‘Sorry, sir. I hadn’t meant to come back. I left a letter in your study, to the newspaper and the Zoological Society – it says you knew nothing about what I did.’
Darwin rubbed his forehead, his hair sticking up, velvet dressing gown hastily tied over his nightshirt. ‘And what is your plan?’
‘Plan?’
Yes,’ he said impatiently, ‘with the lizards under the Queen’s protection – and her very specific about her wishes in writing – this could be considered treason.’
I nodded, miserable.
‘I don’t think you understand, boy.’
‘I do, and I am guilty. I will go to the police station now and turn myself in.’
Mr Darwin shook his head violently. ‘You certainly will not! The Queen will be fur
ious. Boys have been hanged for less, Covington! She may not show clemency, she is young and prideful, and she does not have a particularly high opinion of me; I will have no sway over her. She could easily send you to the prison hulks, the colonies . . . it doesn’t bear thinking . . .’ He took a sip of his tea, his hand shaking.
Could I really be hanged for this?
My master was motionless, deep in thought, then sat up straight.
‘Did you leave sign of a breakout in the caves?’
I shook my head, not understanding. ‘I drugged Hallam and used his key.’
‘So, Hallam could have simply fallen asleep leaving the door unlocked?’
‘But Hallam saw me, sir. We spoke, he drank . . .’
Mr Darwin had that familiar light of a new idea in his eyes. ‘Did anyone else see you?’
‘No – I walked back,’ I frowned, as I caught on to his train of thought, ‘. . . but then Hallam will be blamed—’
‘Nonsense. I will see to Hallam’s pension myself. He is an old man and should not have been working long hours in the dark and damp, he developed a fever and hallucinated your appearance. It was an accident waiting to happen, this is certainly not his fault.’
Mr Darwin stood and paced, twirling the tasselled cord of his gown. I sat up a little taller myself.
‘You will leave on the first passage out of London, Covington. I would suggest . . . Australia or America? I have contacts in both places, I will find you a position.’
He was waiting for a reply, but my head was spinning. I would leave for good? I had no family to speak of in England, but there was Mr Darwin. I wrote to Robbins and Davis from the Beagle, but they weren’t good with their letters so didn’t write back often and would both soon be at sea again. I thought of the golden green hills sweeping from restful Sydney harbour, the clear sky and the welcoming people.
‘Sydney. I liked . . . Sydney.’
‘So did I,’ he smiled. ‘It is settled then. I will pay for second class passage under an assumed name. If the police arrive, I will tell them you are in Cambridge fetching a batch of specimens for me.’
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