For a moment, he forgot to hate it.
“Itisrather beautiful, isn’t it?“ she said softly.
They were standing shoulder to shoulder now and he realised that she was almost his height.But he felt sure she would be easy to subdue, if it became necessary.He hoped it would not.
“But I don’t supposeyouare impressed,“ she said modestly.“I’m told everything is bigger in your country.”
He blinked at her.“Well!It doesn’t compare with our skyscrapers,” he bluffed.“But I didn’t expect that, anyway, not in the Old Country.”
As they continued along the path, he reminded himself not to be taken in by her appearance.The Ormdale women had a reputation.The oldest sister had infiltrated the medical profession, as the girl had referenced.Very little was known about the middle sister, but their cousin was a notorious novelist.
Your chivalry is wasted on that sort of woman, his mentor said.They will try to trick you.Show them no weakness.
He had assured his mentor again and again that he was ready.He wouldn’t be disarmed at the starting yard by a pair of blue eyes.
“This is where the exotic dragons are held,” she said as they resumed their approach.
“And it connects to the abbey itself?”he asked, though he already knew this from the plans he had studied.
“Yes.We built it in the place where the old Regency glasshouse was.Of course, this one is very modern and up to date, quite different from the first.But it was put up on the same spot to honour the memory of Barnaby Worms, who built the first.He was the Worm Warden one hundred years ago.His father collected exotic species during his time with the East India Company.George has been trying to track down where all of our exotic dragons come from to get an idea of how many remain in the wild—but of course you know all about that.Won’t you come in?”
She opened the door for him, which felt wrong.He stepped inside, already knocked off-kilter, and warm air flooded over him.He had known heat like this before, on the other side of the world, in a place he had tried very hard to forget.
Something flashed past in the air close by, a bright bird of some kind, jolting his nerves further.
“That’s our smallest species,” she said.“The nectar-eating dragon.”
There was a hum of laughter from beyond the lush vegetation.
“There are children here,” he said, swallowing sudden nausea.
“There are always children here,” she said.“The nectar-eating species is not venomous, but our antivenin makes the whole menagerie perfectly safe, in any case.Perhaps you would like to see the source of our antivenin yourself?”
She led him down a winding tiled path to an artificial glen, where chunks of the local limestone had been arranged in an irregular circle, some of them forming a rough cave.
A flicker of blue, and his eyes fastened on what he had thought at first was a shadow.
A monstrous creature the size of a crocodile was stretched out on one of the rocks, its neck flexed backward over its body in a heraldic posture.Its tongue flicked towards him like a question—almost as if it could see into his soul.
For a moment, his insides tangled.Was it the heat, the girl, or the dragon?Was it his old nervous complaint, coming back again?
No.He was no longer a shattered creature.He had been reborn.He was alive and strong and knew things that others did not.Never again would he be made to feel small, forgotten, or weak.Those days were over.
The girl was speaking to him.
“This is the creature that makes the menagerie safe for everyone,” she said.“We couldn’t have visitors if it weren’t for this extraordinary dragon from Ceylon, with its anti-venomous scales.And of course, there is the symbiotic relationship it has with fire, which the ancients memorialised in their stories of the legendary salamander, and which calls for modern study.This species has historically been confused with the amphibian, but of course you know all about that.”She stroked the creature’s head as if it were nothing at all to her to pat a venomous monster.“We call this one The Count.”
“The colour of the tongue is very striking in person,” he remarked.“It reminds one of the Australian blue-tongued skink.It has been observed that the pigmentation appears brighter in colour when it feels threatened.”
“Yes.”She paused and glanced at him.“The Count seems a little out of sorts today.Perhaps someone has been bothering him this morning.We might visit the wyverns next.They are one of our English species.”
“There is something I wish above all things to see.I am almost afraid to ask,” he said, heart beating faster.He ought to make his move now, while they were inside.“Perhaps you will be so kind as to indulge me, Miss Worms.”
“Please don’t hesitate, Mr Anderson,” she said.
“Might we pay a visit to the room where you keep your historical artefacts?”
At this, her polite smile became fixed, like a doll’s.Notpart of the planned tour, then.The was an excellent sign.
