The girl is about ten years old, wearing a pair of trousers and a shirt several sizes too big for her. She grins at me and Marquis sighs.
‘Yes, Philippa, that’s Viv.’
‘Jasper said Marquis and Atlas could go down to the Guardian camp to get you, and now you’re here and they said you’re a rebel from London and they said –’ she gasps for breath – ‘that you can talk to dragons.’
My heart races. Why did Marquis and Atlas need permission? Why are they living with Canna kids? What are they doing on the island in the first place? I nod at the girl, unsure how to reply. The warmth of her small hand in mine reminds me of Ursa. She turns to Jasper and sticks out her chin.
‘Let her stay,’ she says. ‘I want to hear about the dragons.’
Over the top of Philippa’s head, Atlas and Jasper are glaring at each other. Then Atlas points to Philippa.
‘I saved yours,’ he tells Jasper quietly. ‘Now you save mine.’
Mine.
I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I see the hardness in Jasper’s eyes soften.
‘Fine,’ he mutters, casting a look at the sky. ‘But quickly.’
Philippa flashes me a grin that reveals several missing milk teeth.
Marquis leans towards me. ‘Go across the fields and intothe forest with Philippa.’ Then he nods at Atlas and Jasper. ‘We’ll straighten things out here.’
‘You’re joking,’ I say. ‘I don’t even know—’
‘We’ll explain everything, cousin,’ Marquis says. ‘But for now, you have to stay out of sight.’
My gaze flits to Atlas again. He’s watching me. I feel my breath quicken. I remember the last time I saw him, how his chest rose and fell and didn’t rise again. He wasn’t breathing. I was so sure of it. He offers me a small smile but I can’t bring myself to return it. I spent three months in that sugar house, crying myself to sleep.
‘Come on, Viv,’ Philippa says as if she’s known me her whole life.
I let her lead me across the field towards the huts. They’re made of driftwood and sheets of iron nailed together, any gaps stuffed with what looks like grass and sheep’s wool. Philippa slips between them, across paths pre-trodden in the wheat, and it’s like walking through a village. Children stare out at us when we pass. They’re all at work: repairing the huts, grinding the contents of huge clay mortars, gutting fish. A boy sits on a stool outside one of them, plucking a bird. No one I’ve seen so far can be older than sixteen. Philippa skips ahead, then comes to a stop in front of a long line of trees. She smiles and takes my hand again. The air is cool and damp as we climb up a dirt bank. She doesn’t speak, her long hair swaying across her back, until we reach the top.
‘You made it,’ she squeaks, gesturing down the other side. ‘Camp Jasper.’
The other side of the bank slopes down into a valley, anatural crater in the earth surrounded by trees. They tower over us, their shadows enveloping everything in a green hue. I see more children, sun-kissed and long-limbed, running up and down the slope, stacking wood, stirring hot liquid in big pots. An older girl shouts at a group of younger ones and they scatter, shrieking like gulls. They’re either wearing clothes that are too big for them or no clothes at all and I notice small, felt pouches hanging around their necks. Philippa has one too, tucked beneath her shirt.
‘This way,’ Philippa says, sliding down into the valley. ‘I’ll take you to your friends.’
‘Friends?’ I reply.
Philippa streaks ahead and I try to keep up, slipping awkwardly down the slope. I feel myself blushing as children stop their games to stare at me open-mouthed, like I’m some sort of exhibit in a zoo.
‘Another new one?’ a girl says.
‘No,’ a boy replies loudly. ‘She’s too old.’
Philippa circles back to me and tugs impatiently on my hand. ‘Your friends,’ she says again.
On the other side of the valley is a group of teenagers. Most have tools and knives made of flint strapped to their bodies, except for two, who are carrying guns and wearing black armbands. They look ridiculously out of place and when they stop their conversation to stare at me, I realise why.
‘Serena?’ I say incredulously. ‘Gideon?’
Serena gives me a cool look. ‘The rescue attempt was a success, then.’
Her hair is braided tightly to her head and the apples ofher cheeks are flushed and weatherworn. She’s wearing the same uniform as the boys and a handkerchief, embroidered with dragons, around her neck.
Gideon stands beside her, looking at me reproachfully. A few months ago, he was so afraid of me cracking the dragon code before he did that he tried to kill me. I discovered afterwards that losing to me would mean he would be sent back to Canna, where he was originally recruited. He was desperate never to set foot on this island again, and yet here he is. Why?
