‘Maybe Soresten wasn’t the only one talking,’ Katherine offers. ‘Maybe the first sequence was Soresten’s orders, and the second was another dragon’s response.’
‘Nice theory, Katherine,’ says Dr Seymour. ‘That’s entirely possible, but the slight similarity between the first Trill-type10 and the second longer one suggests that the same thing is being said, just differently.’
‘So there are different ways of saying things inecholocation?’ I ask. ‘Like synonyms?’
No wonder this morning’s recordings had me confused.
Dr Seymour smiles. ‘Perhaps. But remember this is all theoretical. I’m learning just as you are.’
‘But why bother?’ I say. ‘Why would Soresten waste time saying the same thing two different ways?’
Dr Seymour gives me an empty shrug.
‘Dr Seymour,’ I say suddenly. ‘You know the Bulgarian dragon I translated for last week? Why did they need me? Even though he didn’t speak the same tongue as Muirgen and Rhydderch, couldn’t they have spoken in echolocation?’
She stands up. ‘I wondered this, too,’ she replies. ‘Perhaps theydidcommunicate via echolocation before landing, but hid this from you so as not to bring it to your – and therefore Prime Minister Wyvernmire’s – attention. They all want it to remain a secret, remember?’
I nod, but I’m not convinced. If the dragons were truly able to communicate via echolocation, they wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of asking for a human translator just to hide the fact that they were doing so. So is it possible there are different types of echolocation, like the synonyms I referred to earlier? And, if so, why doesn’t Dr Seymour – who invented the loquisonus machine – seem interested?
*
I stay in the glasshouse all day, poring over the index cards in the corner while Dr Seymour works her own shift. Sophie has offered to take notes for her and, while I initially feel irked at this shameless attempt to get ahead, I remind myself that we’re a team – whether Sophie likes it or not.
The idea that echolocation has several ways of saying the same thing fascinates me like the dragon tongue Harpentesa did the first time I heard Mama speak it on an expedition in Norfolk when I was four. I take a fresh index card and describe the second call Soresten made.
Similar to Trill-type10, but with an inflection at the end. Both calls seem to indicate an order to land.
Then I give the new call a name.
Trill-type14.
At the end of the day, Sophie hangs back and I see her slip a logbook beneath her jacket.
‘Dr Seymour said we’re not supposed to take them out of the glasshouse,’ I say. ‘For security—’
‘I know that,’ Sophie snaps. ‘But a seven-hour shift isn’t enough to figure all this out.’
She lifts a hand to her mouth and bites her nails. She’s worried. Of course she is. Her entire future depends on whether or not we crack this so-called code.
‘Come on,’ I say, holding the door open for her. ‘I’m sure Dr Seymour won’t notice it’s gone.’
She steps through without a thank you.
‘It all feels like a waste of time,’ she says as we walk back through the forest. ‘I’ve been comparing echolocation to Morse code, and they’re nothing alike.’
I kick at a pile of soft, damp leaves and nod. ‘It’s nothing like dragon tongues, either.’
‘We’ve got to figure it out, though,’ Sophie says. ‘Otherwise, we’ll never go home.’
‘We will,’ I say fiercely.
I pull my collar up against the cold and plunge my hands into my pockets. We walk in silence, craning our necks to the sky each time a dragon passes over. Sometimes, when I’m lying in bed, I imagine what it would be like if rebel dragons discovered our location and descended on Bletchley. Would they burn us like the dragon burned those Guardians back at the station? Surely it’s only a matter of time until they discover us. Sophie’s right. We’re not progressing fast enough. If only I could ask some of the patrol dragons about echolocation—
Footsteps sound behind us and I shake the image of furious dragons away. Atlas appears at Sophie’s side. His hands are full of small pieces of wood and, when Sophie and I glance at each other, he lifts them up to show us, grinning.
‘Was just looking for materials,’ Atlas says. ‘I do a bit of carpentry in my spare time. You know, for fun.’
A horse-breeder turned priest-in-training who whittles wood for fun.
