‘George Beecham,’ he says with a warm smile.
‘Penelope Hollingsworth,’ I say, my mouth dry.
What if he’s seen the Wanted posters of me?
‘I hope you don’t mind me coming along with Hyacinth,’ I add quickly.
He gives me a bemused look. ‘Not at all.’
Other boys abandon their drinks and games to greet us, all dressed smartly with slicked back hair and accents that are surely the product of a lifetime of elocution lessons. They’re handsome, all of them, but not in the same way Atlas was. Not one of them even comes close. Hyacinth lets out a small sigh and suddenly a dozen cigarette cases are conjured from pockets and offered to her. She takes her time, lingering over each, and then chooses one from a brown case with a silver clasp. Its owner smiles smugly and I raise an eyebrow.
‘You’re scandalous,’ I whisper in Hyacinth’s ear.
She grins. George puts a glass of champagne in my hand and I nod in awkward thanks. Can he tell I’m not one of them? What sort of small talk do the First Class make?
‘Are you at university?’ I ask him.
Of course he is. All First Class men study something whilewaiting to take over their fathers’ estates.
‘I’m reading Law,’ he says wryly. ‘And you?’
One of the girls shrieks with laughter, spilling half of her champagne on to the arm of the boy pulling her down on to the sofa.
Think before you speak, Viv.
‘I assist the Chancellor with the writing of the Babel Decree articles,’ I say.
It’s not true, but it sounds impressive. And here in this big house with all these First Class people, I suddenly feel the need to impress. That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it? Impress your parents or be punished. Impress your teachers or be demoted.
George lets out a low whistle. ‘Hy says you’re Hollingsworth’s niece?’
I nod.
‘Where are you from?’
‘Oxford,’ I reply, another lie slipping from my mouth.
He nods thoughtfully. ‘Can I ask you something?’
I swallow.
‘If your aunt is the Chancellor of the Academy for Draconic Linguistics, which exists for the learning and preservation of dragon tongues, then why is she writing the Babel Decree at all?’
I blink, then scan his face for a hint of emotion that might tell me where his First Class loyalties lie. He gives me a gentle smile.
‘I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just that she founded the Academy to facilitate human relations with dragons. So whywould she ban us from speaking their tongues, when it’s the very thing she has devoted her life to?’
‘Shehasn’t banned them,’ I say before I can stop myself. ‘ThePrime Ministerhas. My aunt—’
Be careful.
‘My aunt is simply following instructions.’
‘Of course,’ George says good-naturedly. ‘Makes you wonder what Wyvernmire is thinking.’
I feel myself warm to him. I take a sip of champagne and the bubbles pop in my mouth.
‘Ever met her?’ he asks. ‘The PM, I mean.’
