‘It’s a common protocol,’ Dr Seymour says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘To make sure everything’s working and to ensure the Official Secrets Act is being respected.’
‘We’re playing Two Truths and a Lie,’ Marquis says lazily.
He’s now sprawled out on the rug next to me, rolling a cigarette. I wonder which Guardian he has buying him tobacco.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t,’ Gideon murmurs.
The mention of the Official Secrets Act, and the fact that Ravensloe has Guardians checking it’s being respected, has suddenly turned the room cold. As if the attack on London and the conversation about class differences weren’t enough.
Dr Seymour comes and sits beside me, smoothing her skirt over her knees. As Karim hands out a tray of biscuits, Dr Seymour pulls a piece of paper from her pocket and shoves it into my hand. I unfold it in my lap. The words have been scrawled by a hurried hand, with a smear of ink across the top.
Alive.
My breath catches in my throat. Ursa and Sophie’s parents are alive. Joy bursts inside me.
She will become a ward of the state tomorrow.
My heart plummets.
Ward of the state? Are Abel and Alice giving Ursa up? Or has Wyvernmire sent Guardians to remove her? Didn’t she say she’d leave Ursa with her caregivers until I’d finished at Bletchley? Dr Seymour gives me a questioning look and I force myself to smile.
It’s good news, I tell myself.
Twenty-four hours ago, I would have given anything to read these words. But now all I can think about is Ursa being torn from Alice’s arms, just like she was torn from our mother’s.
We don’t resume the game and for the rest of the evening I sit by the fire, clutching the dracovol note.
‘Now you have something to fight for,’ Dr Seymour whispers to me when we all go to bed.
I wait until everyone’s sleeping before I let myself cry. I wish I could turn back time and stay under house arrest with Ursa. Then we would never have been separated.
But Marquis would still be in prison, or worse. Mama and Dad would be dead.
I press my face into the pillow and let out a sob. Someone slips into bed beside me and I jump.
‘It’s me,’ Sophie whispers. ‘Are you all right?’
I turn round to face her in the dark as she lays her head next to mine. This is how we used to sleep when we were children. Not top and tail, like Mama made Marquis and I do, but hands interlaced, cheeks pressed together so we could whisper through the night.
I reach under my pillow and hand her the note. I should have shown it to her earlier, but my thoughts were consumed with my sister. She lifts it to the crack of light shining in from under the door.
‘That’s my dad’s handwriting,’ she says breathlessly. ‘How did you—’
‘Never mind that,’ I say, blinking back tears. ‘Where do you think they’ll take her?’
‘To an orphanage probably,’ Sophie says. ‘But don’t worry, Viv, they won’t lose her, not while they need you.’
‘I wish we could go home,’ I say. ‘Both of us. Back to Fitzrovia and Marylebone. I wish we could go back to before.’
Sophie nods and grasps my hand.
‘We still can,’ she says. ‘But you have to focus, Viv. Ursa is alive, but the only way you’ll ever see her again is if we can learn echolocation.’
I close my eyes, but the tears seep through.
How are we going to crack a code that is actually a language, one that’s dizzyingly complicated?
We don’t know how the various meanings differ from each other yet – it might be a question of tone or register.
