‘It’s about time the tables turned, ain’t it?’ Freddie says.
Freddie lifts the curtain in the church doorway but doesn’t move from beneath it, so when Pascal pushes me through we brush against each other. I’m close enough to see the peeling skin on Freddie’s dry lips, and then I notice the dragon scales beneath the string of his poison pouch. They’re sewn together in a long strip and wound around his neck so that he looks likehe’s slowly turning into a reptile. He catches me looking and leans forward.
‘The Bolgoriths like to go for the throat.’
The church is bare and cold, but light filters in through the stained-glass windows, casting the pews in a purple glow. The blue sky peers in through a hole burned in the ceiling. Blankets and old mattresses litter the space and at the back are long tables covered in an assortment of scavenged weapons: knives, a few guns and several fire pokers. There’s a pungent, overpowering smell in the air. Above the old church organ, tens of pheasants and rabbits have been strung up, a few feathers occasionally floating down. I feel my face pale. Surely they must attract dragons?
More boys, of various ages, look down at us from the balconies, all wearing the same hostile look. Pascal lets me go. I sit down on one of the pews next to Serena. There’s a busyness to the boys, a feeling of movement that we’ve just interrupted. Through the wooden balcony railings I see food being sorted and packed. They’re preparing for something.
‘Lads,’ Freddie calls out. ‘I’ve brought you something none of us have seen in a while. Girls!’
Cheers and laughter ring out, echoing through the church. I see a smaller boy sitting on the balcony, his legs swinging down and his face smeared with jam, watching us with a grin.
Freddie jumps up on to one of the pews. ‘Here we have the sophisticated Serena,’ he says with a mock bow, ‘and Viv, a true vixen.’ His eyes flash. ‘And this maiden here is Marquis.’
Marquis glares at Freddie as the air rings with more whoops and jeers.
‘And of course, our very own snivelling, spineless sissy, Gideon, still as terrified of dragons as he always was. Who remembers him pissing himself?’
The boys stamp their feet as Gideon hangs his head, dust pouring down from the rafters into his hair.
‘Give it a rest, Freddie,’ says a familiar voice.
I frown as a tall boy emerges from behind the altar.
‘Jasper?’
Jasper skulks towards us, hands in his pockets. He’s wearing more clothes than when I last saw him, but his feet are still bare.
‘What are you doing here?’
He glances at the boy next to him, also from his camp. I remember that his name is Henry.
‘Allying,’ Jasper replies. ‘Wyvernmire’s Guardians destroyed our camp.’
My face falls as Marquis swears. ‘Was anyone hurt?’
‘No,’ Jasper says. ‘The rest of the group is sheltering not far from here.’
‘You know these lot, Jasper?’ Freddie asks.
‘I wish I didn’t.’ Jasper glowers.
‘There’s a war on, Jasper,’ Serena says. ‘Wyvernmire would have come for your camp with or without us.’
‘The Bulgarians just murdered dozens of rebel dragons a few miles from here,’ I say. ‘You should all be hiding.’
‘We won’t need to hide when we have the Speerspitzes,’ Freddie says.
‘What,’ I ask again, ‘are Speerspitzes?’
‘Guns that kill dragons!’ the small boy on the balcony shouts.
Freddie sees our confusion. ‘You really ain’t heard of them?’
I glance at the others, then shake my head.
‘Bulgarian Bolgoriths, fire-breathing planes and Speerspitzes,’ he says. ‘Wyvernmire has the full set.’
