‘To be honest,’ I say, because I know I should say something, ‘I’d forgotten all about Christmas.’
‘Of course you did,’ Rushby says good-naturedly, taking another glass of champagne from a tray and handing it to me. ‘You’ve been sobusy. But one must keep one’s spirits up, even in the midst of a war. The presence of the German Secretary of Defence, and of that Bulgarian refugee—’
‘The last surviving member of the Bulgarian royal family!’ Penelope says.
‘—is, of course, mere coincidence.’
‘I heard,’ Iris whispers, ‘that the German Peace Agreement is on its last legs.’
I glance at Dr Seymour, but she wears an expression of perfect indifference. Violins sing from across the room and I take another sip of champagne. My body is starting to feel deliciously light and warm. I stare at the golden bubbles rising in the glass.
‘Isn’t it tedious,’ Iris says to Dr Seymour, ‘to have to watch all these people talk about the boring war and the way it affects their boring lives?’
‘Your husband will entertain us, I’m sure,’ Penelope says. She tugs on Rushby’s arm like a child. ‘Tell us one of your riveting stories.’
I withhold a sigh and notice that Dr Seymour’s attention is also drifting. She glances round the room, perhaps looking for someone – anyone – more interesting to talk to. I hope she spots them soon.
‘Here’s one,’ Rushby says. ‘The rebels have officially taken Eigg.’
Dr Seymour’s gaze snaps back towards our group.
‘Are you quite sure?’ she says. ‘I’ve heard no reports.’
‘It’s not something the government wants shouted from the rooftops, Dolores, dear,’ the earl says lazily. ‘But they’ve seized it with their dragon power, and the word is they’re aiming for Canna next.’
Eigg. Canna. The islands mentioned in Dr Seymour’s dracovol letter. If they’re government-owned, and they’re related to the echolocation research Ravensloe has Dr Seymour doing, then why doesn’t she know about this?
‘What would they want with Canna?’ Iris says. ‘It’s a ghastly place.’
‘Ghastly?’ I say when Dr Seymour doesn’t speak. ‘Why?’
‘For us perhaps, but not so much for the dragons.’ Lord Rushby laughs loudly and takes a fat cigar out of his pocket.
‘Oh dear, brother,’ Penelope says, twisting a curl round her finger. ‘I don’t think Vivien gets your meaning.’
‘You don’t?’ Rushby says, bemused. He glances at Dr Seymour. ‘I thought the knowledge was common in these circles.’
Dr Seymour shakes her head and Lord Rushby’s smile grows wider.
‘Canna is – for the dragons of Britannia – a silver platter of human flesh.’
I stare at him as my mind takes his words and tries to turn them into something that makes sense.
‘Now, now, dear, you’ll alarm the girl,’ says Iris.
Rushby ignores her and lights his cigar. ‘This is why it is such a mystery to me that there are dragons among the rebels. Those creatures have everything they could possibly need, and yet still they complain.’
Penelope tuts and shakes her head. I feel like a fool, but I don’t care. I have to ask.
‘Lord Rushby, what do you mean by human flesh?’
‘Canna is where they send the criminal youths,’ Rushby says. He puffs on the cigar. ‘With the law stating that minors cannot be executed, and the overcrowding due to the influx of immigrants from Bulgaria after the Massacre, the government needed to put themsomewhere.’
The noise around me dulls as I concentrate on Rushby’s voice.
‘So, instead of filling up the prisons, our former Prime Minister found a better way to deal with crime.’
‘Lawbreakers below the age of eighteen are sent to Canna asfoodfor the dragons,’ Penelope says. She lets out an outraged gasp. ‘Isn’t itgory?’
