“You always tell me, sir, open eyes, open mind. The huge fossil skull you found … one of those ancient giants, sir, but alive, very … alive … A dragon. If the eggs die …”

My voice slurred and my eyelids drooped. I tried to blink them open and failed.

A dragging sound, and then Mr. Darwin laid my hand upon the dry wood of the chest he had placed beside my cot.

Exhaustion overtook me so utterly that I wondered what the surgeon had put in that water.

When I next awoke, Mr. Darwin produced a bowl of bone broth that the ship’s cook, Phillips, had made especially for me. My mouth watered at the savory smell. But first I checked on Farthing’s crate. I could only make out a dash of green through the slats. I needed to get her out.

“Has she had food? Water? Sir?” I asked.

“She has,” said Mr. Darwin. “She eats all types of fish, bones and all. She’s not particular.”

I stole glances at Mr. Darwin’s face as he helped me sip the broth. My stomach settled and the cabin no longer spun. Something had changed between us—the rules of servant and master didn’t fit as easily as they used to.

“Farthing was wounded, sir. I would like to check on her. She is not dangerous … please, sir.”

Mr. Darwin frowned. “You mean release her into the sick bay? I do not think Mr. Bynoe or Captain—”

“There’s no one here, and they wouldn’t need to know, sir,” I said quickly and then flushed. I was interrupting, and my request was bold.

Mr. Darwin stood, and I expected him to snatch the crate up and remove Farthing, but he crossed the cabin and pushed the door closed, shaking his head. Then he helped me sit up on the edge of the bunk. I was shaky but felt much better.

The young gentleman slid aside the front of the crate and adjusted his stool farther back as he peered in. Farthing was curled in shadow at the back of the crate.

Nobody moved. I slid to the floor, sitting cross-legged in my nightshirt before her.

“Farthing. You’re safe here.”

The lizard flicked her tail, and after a few seconds she moved toward me. I held out my hand and she butted it with her snout and gave a soft hoot. I grinned, and although I could not take my gaze from Farthing, out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Darwin lean forward to look closer. Her green scales seemed almost iridescent against the dull browns of the cabin and the crate, and her eyes caught the lamplight with a flash of new copper.

“Now I see why you called her Farthing,” whispered Mr. Darwin.

I nodded. Farthing ventured out of the crate completely and turned to survey the room, remaining close to me. The ruff of scales was flat against her neck and I could see she was scared, but at least the wounds on her tail and side were crusted over.