‘Dracovols, not rats,’ I hear Serena muttering to herself repeatedly.
We take a sudden left. Further down the tunnel, I see a light burning. Beneath it is a circular staircase, cut into the rock and lit by candlelight. I glance back at Serena and she gives me a look of disbelief. We follow Ruth up the steps until we reach a long stone hallway with archways leading off into chambers.
‘Who built this place?’ I ask.
‘Old islanders, probably,’ Ruth replies.
‘You have the best spot on Canna,’ Serena says. ‘Does Jasper know about this?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Ruth replies sharply. Her hair glows almost ghostly in the candlelight. ‘And you ’ent to tell him. Not him, not any of them men you’ve got outside. Their lot like to take what ’ent theirs.’
She stares at us, expectant, and I give her a hurried nod.
‘I never suggested I’d tell anyone,’ Serena replies sullenly.
Ruth leads us through an archway. The floor of the chamber is lined with sheep’s wool, the ceiling studded with stones that twinkle like orange crystal. More tunnels lead off into other rooms. I wonder how far this home for girls stretches, imagining the tunnels snaking through the entire land mass that is Sanday. There’s a table made of smooth wood, so long and sturdy that it must have been built in this room, and several wooden crates full of canned food. Mirrors and other trinkets decorate the walls – polished shells and faded illustrations of elegant women wearing ballgowns, ripped from a magazine.
Ruth sits on the table, her legs crossed beneath her. ‘So,’ she says. ‘Wyverns.’
‘Hebridean Wyverns,’ I say. ‘Have you ever seen one? I’d wager you’ve got a good view of Canna from the top of Sanday?’
‘Last time I saw a Hebridean Wyvern was a few years ago. There are plenty of Greens about, but the Hebrideans are different.’
‘So youhaveseen one?’ I say, trying to keep the disbelief out of my voice. ‘Was this before you were banished by Jasper?’
Ruth shrugs. ‘Sure.’
‘Different, how?’ Serena asks. ‘And what’s a Green?’
‘Green-Spotted Wyvern,’ I say. ‘But I was told the Hebridean Wyverns haven’t been sighted at all since 1866.’
‘And the person who told you that lives on the island, do they?’ Ruth says.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘But—’
‘It’s true that the Hebrideans keep to themselves. They nest way across the island – the Skye side, not the Rùm side. But those of us who actually live here sometimes see ’em. Rare as fairies, but they exist.’
I want to ask Ruth how she could possibly have seen wyverns that live on the other side of the island when she can’t leave Sanday, but I remember the way she handled that crossbow as if it were an extra limb and decide against it.
‘We’ve seen maps that show where the wyvernscouldbe nesting,’ Serena says flatly, looking Ruth in the eye. ‘You haven’t told us anything they haven’t.’
‘If you have maps, why did you come to me?’
‘The maps are old,’ I say quickly, before Serena can fit in another snarky reply. I think of the maps in Clawtail’s journal. ‘The landscape has probably changed since they were drawn, or the wyverns might have moved.’
‘Course they’ve moved,’ Ruth says.
I blink.
‘The wyverns are tunnellers.’
Serena sighs. ‘And that’s supposed to meanwhat, exactly?’
‘Don’t they teach you about dragons on the mainland?’ Ruth says.
I bite my lip and fight the urge to snap at her. Ruth runs a finger along her thigh, joining up the many freckles there with an invisible line. She’s enjoying knowing what we don’t. Beside me, Serena bristles.
‘All wyverns are tunnellers,’ Ruth finally says, ‘but Hebridean Wyverns have a particular knack for it.’
