‘Doesn’t mean they can’tuseit as a weapon,’ Gideon argues.
‘Stay focused, all of you,’ Dr Seymour says. ‘Weapon or not, our job is simply to decipher it.’
‘Maybe dragon eggsdependon echolocation to be able to hatch!’ I say. ‘Maybe, without it, the dragonlings can’t grow. That would explain why dragon echolocation is so much more complex than whale or bat echolocation. Because the species depends on it to survive.’
‘It’s a possible theory, Vivien,’ Dr Seymour says. ‘We’ll explore it further, of course, but remember that for now it’s just that. A theory.’
I stare at her. This makes so much sense. This isprogress. Why isn’t she celebrating?
‘Time to pack up, Gideon, please.’
Gideon loads the loquisonus machine back into the buggy. I peer into the crevice again.
‘Leave it, Vivien,’ Dr Seymour says sharply, and I recoil.
She’s never spoken to me like this before. She’s restless, moving from one foot to another, biting her nails. What’s wrong with her? Is she worried Ravensloe will find out she let me use the dracovol?
On the way back to the glasshouse, she strides ahead of us. I hurry to catch up and check that the others are still a few feet behind before I lower my voice.
‘Is it the message I sent?’ I ask. ‘Is that what’s bothering you?’
‘I told you never to mention it,’ she says.
Back in the glasshouse, I return to my logbook. I know what I saw. The dracovol was echolocating to its eggs. I understand now why the Koinamens is sacred. It has meaning and purpose beyond winning any war.
I drop my pen. What would Wyvernmire do with a secret like this? With an insight into a species beyond anything any scientist or zoologist has ever had? She’ll win the war, that’s certain. But will she use her knowledge of echolocation for other things? I think of the wyvern heads that supposedly used to be mounted on her wall. What if she used echolocationas a weaponagainstthe dragons?
The thought makes my skin crawl. Suddenly I see why Muirgen was so angry with me for asking about echolocation. If dragons use it to hatch their eggs and heal each other, what else can it do?
That’s not your concern, I tell myself.Your concern is saving your family, saving Ursa. And now you have the tools to do just that.
Now that I know that echolocation is a language that very possibly contains dialects, the key to winning the war is to learn to speak them. I’ve learned nine languages already – what are a few more?
*
Dr Seymour doesn’t speak to me for the rest of the shift and Gideon simply glowers every time I look up from my logbook.
‘You realise we’re supposed to be working together, don’t you?’ he says. ‘I could check your findings if you want—’
‘No, thanks.’ I smile so hard my cheeks hurt. ‘After all, the art of languagesistraditionally a woman’s domain.’
As soon as the siren sounds, I go to the library. It only takes me a few moments to findSearching for Swallowsin the fiction section and I feel a swoop of nerves as I lift the front cover and spot a lose scrap of paper.
Atlas has replied.
I don’t let myself read it straight away. Instead, I take it downstairs to the dormitory, where I kick off my boots and sit on my bed with my legs folded beneath me. With a glance at the closed door, I retrieve the note.
Featherswallow, I wish I could express to you in a few short words the joys of carpentry, but the task is an impossible one. Instead, I’ll say this: there is an exhilarating feeling in creating something that has never existed before.
I smile as a warmth creeps into my cheeks. Why do I feel so energised? Is it simply the novelty of this secret conversation, of the clandestine passing of notes? Or is it the fact that I’m speaking with a boy who actually has something clever to say, whose choice of words is more poetic than Hugo Montecue could ever hope to be? I reach for a pencil, intending to think carefully before writing my reply, but it comes on its own.
Atlas, languages are like that. You can say the same thing a hundred different ways, and occasionally one of those ways is so unique to the translator that it is impossible to reproduce. No other translator will use the same words, the same rhythm, the same turn of phrase ever again. Translating is creating, too.
I slip my note beneath the book’s cover and hide it under the others piled high on my bedside table. I’ll return it to the library before dinner.
I run my hand along the spines of my current reads, the pages dog-eared from my late-night research. Every section of the library is stocked with an array of dragon-related books, so I’m now reading about a ridiculous amount of topics, fromdragon dens to the hatching process. And, although I know none of them will mention dialects, some might give me some information about dragon languages in relation to different regions or locations.
I lie on my front and flick throughWhispering with Wyrms: The Dragon Tongues of the Modern Worldin the vague hope of making sense of everything I learned today. I scan the list of dragon species at the back, from the Frilled Baikia to the Silver Drake, then turn to page 189.
