The tunnel was not far from the surface with walls of damp, pale chalk. It was wide and reached high, like the lava tubes, but it was much cooler and danker. Water dripped from the ceiling, and I wondered if Mr. Darwin might know where we were, because there could not be so many disused mine workings such a short distance from London. The man led us through winding tunnels, all large and high, until noises could be heard. The echoes grew louder, and I recognized a female voice and something else.

A hoot! The dragons. How? It didn’t matter. Not a growl, not a whine, but a joyful hoot, and a splash of water. I had not heard the dragons make such a sound in so long, I grinned and began to run, overtaking the man leading us, following the hoots and splashes. Around the next corner, I stopped in amazement. A wave of heat hit my face. Large braziers in wrought-iron cages lit the area, like small bonfires lining the walls, red-hot coals illuminating a huge hollow in the center. Iron bars and a gate covered the entrance, and inside was a giant pool, ten times the size of the muddy puddle at the Zoological Society and surrounded by rocks. Only three of the dragons were there—one swimming, head above water; one rolling in the shallows; and a third curled beneath a brazier of red coals.

“On my word—” exclaimed Mr. Darwin.

“It’s, it’s …” I stumbled over my words. The red coals, the rocks, the darkness. It was the closest thing I’d seen to the Galapagos caves.

A small neat figure stepped out of the shadows. This time Queen Victoria wore stout boots, a long black cape, and a large old-fashioned bonnet that shadowed and sharpened her features. Two uniformed men and an older lady stood behind her. Her Majesty broke into a controlled smile.

Mr. Darwin and I immediately removed our hats, bowing low before our queen. How could she be here? She was the Queen. And I supposed that was why she was here; she could be exactly where she liked.

“You are pleased with my dragons’ new lodgings?” she said, her clipped voice echoing around the caves.

“Your Majesty, I—”

She gave Mr. Darwin a dismissive wave and stepped toward me, head cocked to one side.

“Mr. Covington, I was most perplexed to hear the news about poor dear Quartz. A beautiful animal. Please tell me—and you must be honest now—is this of any approximation to the environment the lizards experienced on their native Narborough Island?”

I clutched the rim of my cap so hard it crumpled. The Queen of England wanted my opinion. The cave was still damp, the rocks were not volcanic, they could not roam … but compared to the enclosure at the Zoological Society …

I replied, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, it is.”

A flame of hope bloomed in my chest. I wanted to trust her. I needed someone to help me save them.