“Surprise?” Mary said dubiously. “People ran. People see usnow!” Although the street had emptied while Yuánchi circled to land, heads crowded every window.
“All they see are two bizarrely dressed people,” I pointed out. “Help me.” I unbuckled the saddlebag, which appeared tiny strapped to Yuánchi but was tremendous by usual standards. I could have packed three spring bonnets and not creased a ribbon, but as we each grabbed a bundle, the cloth and colors were far more prosaic.
I thought to Yuánchi,Hide outside London. I shall call when we are ready.
You need my protection.
I need protection that fits through a door. Go. But frighten away these watching people.
His lithe neck bent until his muzzle faced straight upward like a fountain as tall as a building. He spread the nearest joints of his wings from his body, keeping the rest pinched closed to fit between the buildings. The breadth of one wing curved over us like a sheltering roof.
Close your eyes.
“Take off your spectacles,” I said to Mary. Once she fiddled them off—she had tied them to a leather lace behind her head—I pulled her surprised face against my shoulder. “Hide your eyes. And cover your ears!” Her palms clamped in place just before I buried my own eyes in her shoulder.
We were near Yuánchi’s chest, and through my own pressed palms, I heard a rumble. It was not inhalation—this was nothing so mundane as breath—but a building tension like the thousand miniature hisses and groans of a steam boiler at high pressure. Then the corners of my buried eyelids flared white, heat flashed every exposed inch of skin, and a roar—did something that loud even have a sound?—shook my lungs within my chest. It ended in a moment, even before my skin goosebumped in instinctive animal fright.
By the time we lifted our heads, Yuánchi was trotting down the street, his tail held awkwardly high so he would not accidentally crush us. In a dozen strides he reached the next corner. He peered both ways, doubtless curious but looking remarkably like a cautious walker, then spread his wings and rose in a thunder of wind. In seconds, he was out of sight.
I tugged Mary’s hand. “We can be gone while their eyes are dazzled.”
“Look at the sky,” she cried.
It was a day of high thin cloud and spotty low puffs, but above us, a round of pure blue sky was spreading. In the center, the air glowed in shimmering greens and yellows that folded like giant butterfly wings. As they faded, leaving a roiling fringe of cloud at the circle’s edge, I pulled Mary toward the wharves.
We ducked into an alley, stripped off our heavy leather coats and caps, and pulled on our nondescript brown riding hoods. A few inches of Mary’s trousers were exposed, but no one would care if we did not enter a respectable establishment. I doubted that was our destination.
“This is madness,” Mary muttered, flapping her shapeless garment.
“Says the sister who waited all night to ambush me.”
“Youare mad,” she clarified.
“That is a symptom of my impending death,” I said, peeking around the corner. There was a distant din from some unseen crowd, but in view there was only a pair of men, pointing skyward and conversing rapidly.
I closed my eyes, settled my excitement, and easily located the pocket of vileness. “This way—” I began, then opened my eyes to see Mary’s cheeks wet with tears. My own heart seized. “Mary, you must not, or I will dissolve in a puddle beside you, and we will achieve nothing.” Her throat lurched through a swallow, then she dashed her tears off and nodded.
We hurried on. The road was still vacant. That was odd. A dragon sighting, however frightening, should draw the indomitable curious of London.
One street short of the wharves, I stopped at the corner of a rundown, nondescript wooden building. It leaked a reek of dead fish far worse than the usual wet odor of the Thames.
“The wyfe is there…” I began, then hesitated. I was long past committed to this plan, but the realization of imminent violence froze me. What if I lost my mind? What if I hurt Mary?
Mary was surveying the exterior with the obsessive focus she applied to books in dead languages. She sniffed the air. “This is very likely where Miss Bathurst was kept. The odor. The district. It is all correct.” She faced me, recognized my hesitation, and her expression became determined. “Lizzy, these men are murderers and fiends. English law would hang them many times over.”
“I know.” At least my hesitation suggested I would not be possessed by the mad, vengeful thrill of battle. “Let us begin.”
I closed my eyes and fell into… not calm, but a balanced and honed focus. I drove the boundaries of my mind outward. Not just awareness, but influence. The strength to command, if needed. The distant sounds of the city vanished, and my headache went with them. I had not noticed it lingering.
The blur of the dosed wyfe resolved, but faint. An old dose, faded. She was below the street and near the back of the building. A cellar.
There were draca all about us, a few nearby, many more distant, each an intoxicating spark, tiny and young or aged and wise. I began surveying them for suitability, then discarded delicacy and sent a summons:Help me!It rang out in all directions, even sweeping over the Thames and up the far shore.
“Aid is on the way,” I said, opening my eyes. “A great deal of aid.”
The door was weathered wood planks with a shuttered face-sized peephole. I looked for a doorbell, then felt foolish when Mary pounded on the wood with her fist.
Steps approached, and the peephole shutter opened. Suspicious eyes gleamed. A guttural man’s voice said, “Who are you?”
