When the call for “Land ho!” came again, I gathered at the ship’s rails next to Mr. Darwin, although without the telescope there was nothing to see yet. A tug on my breeches’ leg. I crouched and rested an arm on deck so Farthing could scamper the length of it and settle across my shoulders like a giant stole. She rarely did this, but I liked it when she did, although I was sure she was getting heavier than she used to be. It had now been a month since I’d been rescued.

I looked along the row of officers, which Mr. Darwin had insisted I join. I’d been spending more time with them than the men. Without my fiddle, I had little reason to be in the sailors’ mess, and Mr. Darwin kept me busy at work in the captain’s cabin, preparing the specimens, labeling, logging, and sketching. Mr. Bynoe had been impressed with how quickly I had recovered from my Galapagos ordeal, both in body and mind, although my ear would never be right again; I had almost totally lost my hearing on that side. At first it had made my walking wobbly, but I had already grown used to it. Mr. Bynoe had been confused by this injury.

“The eardrum looks to be ruptured. How did this happen?” he’d said, after peering into my ear through a funnel-shaped instrument.

“A very loud noise, sir,” I said. I had looked to Mr. Darwin, who stood behind him, and he shook his head.

“Hmm. I have never seen the like. And what made this noise?”

I blinked and glanced at Mr. Darwin. “The … volcano, sir,” I said.

Both men were silent.

“An infection is a more probable cause,” said Mr. Bynoe, packing his case. My master’s headshake turned into a nod.

I took Mr. Darwin’s advice, kept my thoughts and memories of the dragon locked away, like the eggs inside the chest.

My behavior toward the eggs and Farthing gave Captain Fitzroy “cause for concern”—he likely thought me addled in the mind and Mr. Darwin addled for indulging me—but it couldn’t be helped. To find a boy presumed lost at sea, still alive after six days, was good luck for the ship, and the sailors tipped their caps at me. In general, we sailors were a fanciful lot and some even touched my shoulder and muttered—clutching at crucifixes and lucky charms, hoping my fortune would pass their way. The first time Farthing escaped the cabin, I had been awful feared she would leap from the rail and swim for home, or a sailor would take violent to her. It did not happen. In only a few days, the crew, and even the captain, accepted Farthing’s wanderings on deck. She never damaged anything, and her inquisitive nature and playfulness made the men laugh. She even won the heart of her rival, the ship’s cat; when Farthing caught rats, she delivered them to the big, lazy ginger tom for him to devour. Farthing never ate a rat herself, much preferring the fish we caught, especially crabs and lobster, which she crunched up, shell and all.