Dr Featherswallow, if dragons spoke in regional dialects, surely we would have heard them.
That’s what Hollingsworth said. Well, she was wrong and Mama was right. I stare at my scribbles.
My heart seems to stop and start. Are the echolocation dialects regional, too? Rhydderch said last night that Muirgenis his sister, meaning they were hatched and likely to have been reared in the same place. So maybe echolocation dialects vary depending on the location in which a dragonling learns to echolocate. And if Soresten and Addax are both Sand Dragons, perhaps they come from the same region—
‘Vivien!’
Dr Seymour is staring at me, a bemused smile on her face.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she says. ‘I’ve said your name three times.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, closing my logbook abruptly. ‘I was … concentrating.’
‘Have you made any progress?’ Dr Seymour says, adjusting her glasses.
I shake my head. Last time I made progress, Gideon managed to take the credit for it. This time, if this theory can be proved, I want Wyvernmire to know it’s mine.
‘Come on,’ Dr Seymour says. ‘We’re going on another trip.’
We drag the buggy full of loquisonus machines past Yndrir – on the morning guard shift – and deep into the forest. I remember how Atlas appeared from it last night, like a light in the dark, and feel a sudden feverish curiosity about the reply I hope is waiting for me in the library.
‘I reckon the dragons have several types of code to stop humans from deciphering echolocation,’ Gideon says as we walk.
‘Why would they go to all that trouble?’ I say. ‘The war is between the government and the rebels, not humans and dragons.’
‘Well, they probably created the codebeforethe PeaceAgreement, didn’t they?’ he replies with a withering look. ‘And anyway not all dragons want peace.’
They didn’t create the code, idiot, is what I want to tell him.
‘Even the rebel dragons are collaborating with humans,’ I say instead. ‘I don’t think dragons everywhere woke up one day and said,Let’s create a code with the mind-reading skills we coincidentally have, just in case things get bad with the humans.’
I laugh, pleased with myself, and Gideon glares at me.
‘Maybe they were preparing for the day they wouldn’t be able to speak without humans likeyouunderstanding their every word.’
‘Says you, Bletchley’s other polyglot,’ I reply shrilly.
‘I limit myself to the languages of my own species, in case you haven’t noticed,’ Gideon mutters. He looks at Dr Seymour. ‘My bet is that these rebel dragons will use the rebel humans while they need them, then turn on us all once they’ve won the war, just like the Bulgarian dragons—’
‘Shhh!’ Katherine whispers. ‘Look.’
She’s staring through the trees up ahead. I follow her gaze. There’s a movement in the giant oak straight in front of us. A dracovol flies from branch to branch, perching and then hovering again, a dead mouse between its jaws.
‘A dragon messenger,’ Gideon whispers.
I glance at Dr Seymour. Her face has turned pale.
‘Those aren’t allowed at Bletchley,’ Gideon says, running towards the tree. ‘It might be carrying a rebel message.’
‘Gideon, wait!’ I call as I follow him through the forest.
We stop at the bottom of the tree and stare up at the creature. It surveys us with black, unblinking eyes. It has ashort, rounded snout, and two of its lower teeth are poking up through its nose. Long, scaled tendrils rise up from its head, like whiskers. It’s the size of a cat. While dracovols don’t have the level of dragon or human intelligence, they’re said to be as clever as dolphins. The dracovol gulps down the mouse, then crawls along the tree trunk and into a large crevice.
‘Leave it, Gideon,’ Dr Seymour says sharply as Gideon peers inside. ‘Dracovols are known to live in the wild, too, so there’s nothing to suggest this one is carrying a message—’
‘She has eggs,’ Gideon says.
‘Let me see,’ I say, pushing him out of the way.
