Mr. Darwin and I spent our days in silence, him absorbed with his new notes on ape behavior. I could not even be cheered by the violin. I had to find a way to rescue Farthing and the others. Quartz was gone. Who would be next?

I couldn’t even think it might be Farthing; my heart wouldn’t let me. But they were in London Zoological Park, guarded night and day. And even if I could—no. It was impossible, and I felt sick to my bones.

I couldn’t even take some time with my maudlin. Mr. Darwin and I had an appointment with the Queen.

A black carriage drew up outside our lodgings just before nine p.m., as arranged. A grim sort of fellow, older than both of us put together and sporting an outmoded bushy gray mustache, ushered us into the plain but rich interior without a word. The carriage had thick velvet curtains, so it felt like being inside a black box. It was lit inside by a swinging oil lamp, and I flashed back to the buccaneer in the cave. How many nights had he spent in utter darkness, beneath the boat, alone? I thought I’d rather be there than here, watching the dragons die, slowly, with nothing I could do.

Neither Darwin nor I spoke—he seemed as lost in thought as I was. Our destination had something to do with the dragons, that was all we knew. The idea of Farthing and the others under the Queen’s protection gave me the jitters. It was probably some form of treason to even think that I did not totally trust the young queen, but it was the truth.

The carriage was heading out of the city. After a silent journey of around twenty minutes, the road beneath the carriage became rougher and we gripped the handrails. Mr. Darwin’s eyes widened in alarm and I gave him the smallest of smiles. For once, I was not prepared for his motion sickness, and did not fancy giving him my tweed cap for the purpose. The carriage soon drew to a halt, and our driver opened the door and ushered us out. We were on a bare stretch of land, the moon lighting a low building and what looked like a tower, similar to those found at a mine. There was also another carriage, much larger than ours and with a trailer attached behind, on which rested a large crate, plain black.

“What is our location, sir?” said Mr. Darwin to the driver.

“I have my orders, mister. You are requested to enter the mine. I am instructed to tell you it is perfectly safe, but to say no more. If you do not wish to enter, the choice is yours and I am to return you forthwith, sir,” said the guard.

Mr. Darwin and I looked at each other, although there was no question. I was heading underground for the first time since I had rescued the eggs.

We swung the oil lamps as we followed another silent man through the wide underground tunnel. My heart thumped and sweat beaded cool on my forehead as I recalled the last time I had been underground, racing against the boiling, lapping tongue of lava; I still sported the scars to my legs.