With a curt nod, barely acknowledging our deep bows, Queen Victoria disappeared beneath her lace parasol and walked at a clipped pace back to her retinue.

Mr. Darwin’s eyebrows had disappeared beneath the rim of his top hat. He lowered his voice as we made our way back to the carriage.

“You will not undermine me in that way again, Covington. Do you understand?” he said, his voice quiet but not at all soft.

I swallowed and dropped my chin. “I am sorry, sir.”

The silence felt heavy and desperate between us.

“Where do you think the carriage she sends will take us?” I asked.

“I have no idea, Covington. But we will find out soon enough.”

On the day following our visit to the Zoological Society and the bizarre meeting with the Queen, Mr. Darwin and I worked in his study, silent. For once, it did not feel like the calm quiet of two people long used to being holed up with just each other for company. Mr. Darwin did not look up at me at all and tugged his whiskers more than usual. I wanted to beg him again, to do anything he could to get the dragons back to the Galapagos. With his naval connections, with his standing in the Royal Society, my young master was becoming an important man. But I’d asked him already, the answer had been clear, and I’d been chided for my insolence. It was past four when I received the message from the keepers at the Zoological Park that we were needed immediately. They didn’t say why.

“It’s Quartz,” I said.

Mr. Darwin gathered his hat and cane.

“You don’t know that, dear boy,” he said softly. I hoped he was right.

He was not.

I felt it in the soupy afternoon fog, I heard it in the roll of the carriage wheels, I saw it in the grim face of the warden as he opened the gates.

We detected the dragon calls as we passed the other quiet enclosures, a whining sound, high and tragic.

I quickened my step.

The keeper’s eyes were red-rimmed. “We don’t know what to do with them; we can’t get them away from Quartz. We thought we should send for you before we … Farthing has simply been pacing the bars. I’ve never seen them show any sign of aggression before this, but now—she … she’s warning us off.”

I nodded and stepped into the enclosure.

“Covington, I think …”

Mr. Darwin trailed off. I would never be afraid of Farthing.

The dragons were mounded around Quartz, bundled together like when they slept, in a tangled ball. They were keening—a high-pitched, drawn-out whine, a sound to put your teeth on edge, to twang the strings of your heart. Farthing was the only one who stood outside the group. Mr. Darwin was by my side, but when Farthing flicked around and snarled at him, he stumbled back against the bars.