‘It’s a Ddraig Goch,’ I whisper to no one in particular.
A Welsh dragon. He’s magnificent.
‘Get a move on, all of you,’ the Guardian calls from up ahead.
Why didn’t I expect there to be dragons at Bletchley? The other recruits are still staring at Yndrir in awe. This is probably the closest they’ve ever been to a dragon in their lives. How many more dragons are working at the DDAD, and what do theydo? I glance back over my shoulder as the Ddraig Goch rounds the corner of the house, excitement fizzing in my chest. So Iwillbe working with dragon tongues. Maybe I’ll be talking toactual dragons.
I catch up with Sophie, wait until no one’s looking, and pull her by the arm.
‘Ow, Viv!’
Sophie turns on me angrily, her long hair whipping her face. Now that she’s clean and fed, she looks more like the Sophie I know. I close my eyes and try to ignore the surfacing memories of that day.I’m sorry, I want to say. But I can’t. Because I know that sorry isn’t good enough.
‘Look,’ I say, ‘regardless of what happened last summer, both of us are here now, and both of us need to complete the jobs we’ve been given to go home. I think we should work together.’
Sophie’s eyes narrow. ‘Of courseyou’repast what happenedin the summer becauseyourlife went on as normal. But mine …’ Her lip tremors and the guilt fills me so quickly I almost double over.
‘Tell me about it,’ I plead. ‘Tell me where you’ve been.’
‘I already did,’ Sophie replies. ‘Granger’s Prison.’
‘For how long?’
‘A few weeks,’ she says. ‘It was better than where I was living before.’
A hollow carves itself into my stomach. I had hoped – convinced myself even – that the Third Class wouldn’t be as bad as the rumours say. That, despite our parents’ warnings, being demoted wasn’t the end of the world.
‘You mean the halfway house?’
Sophie nods. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘All right,’ I say gently. ‘But suppose we work together? On whatever code we’re supposed to be breaking? I don’t know anything about it, and I’m sure neither do you. And I want us to get out of here, you, me and Marquis. Together. Two heads are better than one, right, Soph?’
Sophie looks up at the mention of her childhood nickname.
‘They promised me that if I did the job here, I’d be promoted,’ Sophie says, staring into the trees ahead. ‘They promised I’d be Second Class again.’
I nod.Ideserve to be here, but Sophie doesn’t. She doesn’t deserve to have memories so terrible she can’t talk about them. She doesn’t deserve to have a traitor for a friend. We pick our way across the roots and mounds of earth in the forest, pausing only to look at the tennis court hidden in a clearing to the right of the trees.
‘The glasshouse is our most protected location,’ the Guardian is saying as we catch up with the group. ‘Several dragons and Guardians guard it, and the forest makes it almost undetectable from the sky.’
Almost undetectable from the sky.How many dragons fly over Bletchley each day? From above, the manor and its grounds must look like nothing more than a First Class house. The DDAD is hiding in plain sight and the rebels have no idea. As we walk deeper into the forest, a tall glass building emerges from the trees. Plants and leaves press up against the inside of the windows, making the house look as though it grew from the forest itself. Dotted in the grass around it are several sheets of black rubber, mounted on legs and ribbed like dragon scales. What are they? The Guardian holds the door open and our eyes meet. I jump. Where do I know him from?
‘Welcome to the glasshouse!’
Dr Dolores Seymour smiles at us from behind her oversized glasses, her green dress blending in with the tall potted plants that surround her. Behind her is a patterned rug and an upholstered sofa, as well as two large bookcases and a cupboard that stand in the shade of yet more leaves. The glass ceiling stops among the branches of a neighbouring elm tree, so the whole room is lit by a greenish hue. Blackout curtains are gathered in the corners of the walls and the ceiling, and I imagine them cloaking this whole place in darkness at the pull of a string. Wires snake across the floor like twisted black roots, reaching all the way back to a line of machines and two smaller contraptions that stand atop sometables at the very back of the room.
‘No time for niceties, Dr Seymour,’ the Guardian says. ‘Your recruits will need strict instruction in order to overcome the innate lack of respect for authority they all no doubt possess.’ He looks at me and sneers, amusement dancing in his eyes.
I step backwards in shock, the ghost of a slap stinging my face.
Guardian 707.
This is the man who hit me when my parents were arrested. Who joked about finding a key beneath Mama’s dress. I can tell by the way he’s staring at me that he recognises me, too.
‘Thank you, Ralph, but these recruits aremyresponsibility, not yours,’ says Dr Seymour. ‘If you could please take your assigned positionoutsidethe glasshouse, then we’ll all be able to get down to work.’
Ralph directs his sneer towards Dr Seymour and for a second I think he might refuse, but he suddenly turns on his heel and leaves, letting the door slam behind him. Dr Seymour smiles at us.
