“She seems in good condition,” said Mr. Darwin.

He spoke softly, shadows falling long on his face by the light of the storm lamp.

Farthing sniffed the air. She stalked over to the door and snuffled at the base of it, then continued to investigate all the corners of the tiny cabin. Mr. Darwin and I simply watched her.

I returned to the bed, the effort of sitting on the hard floor making me suddenly dizzy. When I lay back, Farthing jumped up by my side and rested her head on her foreclaws.

“Remarkable,” said Mr. Darwin. I nodded. “The shape of its scales, and that coloring—quite unique for the reptiles of the islands. Sap Green? I shall have to consult Werner.”

“I thought Pistachio Green, sir.”

Our eyes met and we both smiled just a little.

“Quite right. But we can’t have it—her—roaming …”

“Just for a little while, sir? She saved my life. More than once.”

Silence. Just the creak of the boat timber, rope against cleats, the snap of the sail. Farthing saved my life and I saved Mr. Darwin’s.

He cleared his throat, his eyes flicking between the lizard and me.

“Ah yes, about the storm. You have had a remarkable experience, my good fellow.” He paused, and I couldn’t meet his eyes. Mr. Darwin had never called me that before.

“I would dearly like to hear everything. From the moment we lost hold of each other in the squall. If you are ready to tell it.”

I smiled and reached for water. With Farthing beside me, I was ready.

I told Mr. Darwin everything, the truth in all its burning, impossible detail. Throughout the long tale, my master stroked his whiskers and watched me with those sharp, thoughtful eyes. He did not interrupt and didn’t take notes. I stammered a little—despite all the long days we spent together, I’d never really spoken about myself—but was determined to tell it all. I even included my conversations with Scratch. The telling made it real again.

When I finished, my cheeks burning, breathless, Mr. Darwin made me sip water. He waited for me to settle and then held something beneath the lamp. It glinted gold.

“While you were sleeping, Mr. Bynoe removed this nasty article from the sole of your foot, dear boy. Quite a splinter. It suggests at least one of the eggs you mention had … already hatched?”

I held out my hand and he dropped the shard of shell into it. It was a triangular curled sliver, as long as my thumbnail and almost as wide at the base. Gold struck through with black on the outer side, pale and pearly on the inside. Thin but very hard. Already hatched?

I didn’t need to look at the dragon eggs to know it was from an egg like them.

“I checked all the eggs myself,” said Mr. Darwin. “None are cracked.”

Farthing had nudged each egg into my arms. There couldn’t have been a newly hatched infant up there on the ledge too. Could there?