That’s the woman who got our parents arrested. The woman who pretended to be their friend before sentencing them to death. Dr Seymour gives us both a confused look.
‘Do you know her?’ she says.
‘We’ve met her,’ I say grimly. ‘Dr Seymour, did you hear the—’
‘The radio interference?’ Dr Seymour lowers her voice as she nods. ‘If what the Coalition said is true, then that woman must be at the top of the order to ban dragon tongues.’
Part of me wants to march over there and ask her why she has gone against everything she worked so long to build. The learning of languages – and translation in particular – is about giving a voice to people, to species and countries who have yet to be heard by the world. To learn nothing but human tongues would be to turn in on ourselves, would be like erasing the dragons and their history.
Ravensloe walks past us, accompanied by a pasty-faced young man.
‘One doesn’t have much time to keep up with the news at Oxford, especially with mods being next term,’ the man drawls. ‘But that damn Coalition is the talk of the quad.’
‘You’ll know the ouroboros, of course?’ Ravensloe replies. ‘The Ancient Greek symbol depicting a dragon eating its own tail? If only those rebel dragons would do the same thing. If instead of fighting their neighbour’s tail, they turned round and bit their own, we should finally have peace.’
Both of them dissolve into fits of loud laughter.
‘Marquis Featherswallow?’
We turn round. A man with long dark curls and a black cane is smiling at us.
‘You are working in Aviation, yes?’
The man has an accent identical to Mama’s.
‘I’m afraid I’m not allowed to talk about it—’ Marquis begins, but the man just laughs and beckons him closer.
‘I too am party to the Prime Minister’s secrets,’ he says with a wink. ‘Now, I am interested to know more about your work …’
Marquis gives me a helpless look as the man puts an arm round his shoulder and steers him towards the bar. I’m left alone with Dr Seymour and suddenly I remember every moment of our last conversation. My insistence on discussing the dracovol seems rude now, more humiliating without the heady excitement of progress that accompanied it.
‘Dr Seymour,’ I begin, ‘I’m sorry about—’
‘Ah, Dolores,’ says a voice. ‘How delightful to see you here.’
A man approaches us, a woman hanging off each arm.
‘I haven’t seen you since our university years. Let me introduce you to my wife, Iris, and my sister, Penelope.’
The women both have upturned noses and pale skin. I can’t guess which one is which.
‘How do you do,’ Dr Seymour says. ‘Vivien, this is Lord Rushby, the Earl of Fife. Rushby, this is one of my most talented recruits, Vivien Featherswallow.’
I give them all a polite nod and notice Gideon watching me from the next group over. As Dr Seymour continues to sing my praises, his ears slowly turn red. I take another gulp of champagne. My glass is almost empty.
Lord Rushby eyes me curiously. ‘Everyone is sointerestedin the work you do here at Bletchley, and yet it seems you are only at liberty to discuss it with a select few?’
He’s young and handsome and smooth.
‘A necessary precaution,’ I recite with a smile, ‘to protect the war effort.’
His head snaps towards the woman on his right. ‘Dolores and I studied in the Dragon Department at university, dearest. She was always a few marks ahead of me, a true teacher’s pet.’
Everyone laughs and I see something like amusement flicker in Dr Seymour’s eyes as Lord Rushby disregards her intelligence as mere favouritism.
‘Well, you have rather a good turnout,’ he says, clearly bored. ‘So many people crossing the country to be here in the spirit of … Christmas.’
His eyes glint as he gives me a sideways glance, as if he’s expecting me to grasp the hidden meaning behind his words. Why does it seem like every guest here knowsexactlywhat’s happening at Bletchley Park?
