I listen to Rita Hollingsworth talk with my parents over bowls of buttery pierogi, her eyes burning with what I can only describe as brilliance. This is the woman who single-handedly recorded the syntax of three ancient dragon tongues,the chancellor of an institution that has given Dragonese a written form. And here she is, inmyhouse, listening tomymama.
‘As you know, Doctor Hollingsworth, dragons have conversed in hundreds of languages for millennia,’ Mama says. ‘And my research shows that their linguistic capabilities stretch even further than that. I believe that small, close-knit groups speak in dialects born from the languages they know. These dialects are clearly distinct from one another, in the same way that the Queen’s English is distinct from, for example, Scouse.’
‘Doctor Featherswallow, if dragons spoke in regional dialects, surely we would have heard them.’
‘The dialects may not be regional,’ Mama replies eagerly. ‘They could be—’
She falters as Dr Hollingsworth holds out a palm to signal her to stop talking. I almost choke on my pierogi and across the table Marquis spits his wine back into the glass.
‘You are from Bulgaria, Doctor Featherswallow, are you not?’
‘I … yes,’ Mama replies.
‘And you came to England when?’
‘In 1865, as an infant.’
‘Following the Massacre of Bulgaria, then.’ Dr Hollingsworth sets down her fork. ‘Did you lose many of your family members to the Bulgarian dragons?’
‘Several, including my mother,’ Mama says quietly.
It’s all Mama has ever told me about her family. That they fled Bulgaria when the dragon uprising happened, andthat only Mama and her father survived. My grandmother perished alongside most of the human population of Bulgaria.
‘I must admit that it surprises me that you became a dragon anthropologist, studying the very creatures that caused your family so much suffering,’ Dr Hollingsworth says. ‘Many of the Bulgarians I know carry herbs they believe will protect them against dragons and have vowed never to trust one again.’
Mama smiles and Dad reaches for her hand.
‘Before the Travel Ban, my wife toured the world for her research, Doctor Hollingsworth,’ he says. ‘For every bloodthirsty dragon encountered in Bulgaria, she has met several more who want nothing but peace.’
Dr Hollingsworth meets Dad’s gaze. ‘And aren’t we lucky, to have the Peace Agreement to thank for that?’
Dad stiffens and I see Mama press a hand to his back. He pours himself another glass of wine.
‘Praise for peace and prosperity!’ Mama recites Britannia’s national motto in the same singsong voice she uses to help Ursa memorise her lessons, and Dr Hollingsworth smiles approvingly.
I lay a hand on the portfolio in my lap, thinking of the Draecksum past participle on page nine. Is now a good time to broach the subject of the apprenticeship? I’m looking to Mama for permission when I realise that Dr Hollingsworth is staring straight at me.
‘Vivien Featherswallow,’ she says, ‘I understand you’re a budding linguist, too?’
My blood burns with a sudden energy and I sit up straighter.This is my chance. I smile the way I’ve been taught.
‘I’m reading Dragon Tongues at the University of London,’ I say. ‘It’s my first year.’
‘Wonderful,’ Dr Hollingsworth says. ‘Do you get much practice?’
‘Practice?’ I say.
‘With dragons, dear.’
‘Oh …’
The question makes sense, but I’ve never given it much thought. Now I do, I realise I haven’t said more than a few words to a dragon since I was Ursa’s age.
‘The last dragon professor was replaced by a human this year, so—’
‘How many dragon tongues do you speak?’ she asks me in perfect Wyrmerian.
‘Six,’ I reply in the same language. Then I switch to Komodonese, which I’ve only just started learning. ‘But I’m not fluent in this last one.’
