And with that, I knew I could not tell her. She saw them as brutes and beasts, and I had no evidence, nothing to prove what they truly were. They did these tricks to please us, not themselves. This cave was still a prison, the Queen’s prison, but a prison nonetheless. The Queen was annoyed by Quartz’s death. Annoyed was not how I felt, or how Farthing and the others felt; it was not the same as heartbroken.

I looked sideways at the Queen’s young face, a cheek as smooth and pale as marble. Her small soft hands in their dark gloves, a girl tended by an army of maids since birth. What was she doing here?

I thought I understood. As a child, she had barely left the palace. She was known to have been kept closeted at Kensington and to have been so enraged by her strict upbringing she sent her own mother away after her coronation. Now she was Queen and could go where she liked. What would I do if I were her?

I would do exactly what took my fancy. And these exotic animals took her fancy, nothing more.

“I have arranged to have the rest of the dragons relocated here tonight. Only I, members of my retinue, and you and Mr. Darwin will be permitted to enter until they are fully themselves again.”

I wished I could have some of her confidence.

Mr. Darwin stepped forward. “Your Majesty. The Zoological Society—”

“The Zoological Society was keeping these animals in great discomfort, a veritable mire of mud and stink, and one has already died,” she said, chin raised. “Are they of more value to Science alive or dead, Mr. Darwin?”

There is no fundamental difference between man and animals in their ability to feel pleasure and pain, happiness, and misery.

—CHARLES DARWIN,
THE DESCENT OF MAN

It was a note from the London Zoological Society that drove me to search out the storm drain leading to the river.

When Mr. Darwin opened the envelope, his shoulders slumped.

“Oh. That is disappointing news,” he said.

I looked up, questioning.

“I’m afraid Jenny the orangutan has died.”

I put down my pen, remembering how the little ape had capered about, playing with my handkerchief. Mr. Darwin rubbed his forehead.

“That is sad,” I said, my throat tightening. “What … happened?”

“Oh, it doesn’t say. She seemed quite healthy when I saw her last. She was a fascinating study and quite diverting. Still—all is not lost, as they are shipping in a new specimen, a young male by the name of Tommy,” said Mr. Darwin, and turned back to his work.

Jenny. All that time Mr. Darwin had spent studying her, yet her death was simply inconvenient. The time for moping around was over.

I needed to get bricky.

I clutched the handle of the stinking bucket, gulping deep breaths through my nose, but the smell still made my eyes water. The rain had not let up, but I was glad, although surprised the stink made it through the downpour, which soaked my cloak and squelched in my boots and gaiters. I had left the mackerel to turn next to the stove, and Mrs. Harvey had almost killed me for the stench, but half-rotten mackerel and sardines were now the only foods that would make the dragons take notice.