“There’s no change. They are all in the water, not like they have a lot of choice. The braziers are lit and are above the storm surge, but they don’t seem to pay them much notice no more. This flood will soon drain.”

I reached into my cloak, pulled out my hipflask, and pretended to take a swig, giving an appreciative shudder. I caught Hallam’s envious eye, as I had hoped I would.

“Sorry, Mr. Hallam, I should have offered to you first.”

“Ah no, my boy, the Queen gives express orders that no liquor be taken on duty.”

I nodded. “Well, it’s not exactly liquor, Mr. Hallam. It’s a tonic wine my mam used to swear by to ward off the damp. It might contain a drop of liquor, but it ain’t the main ingredient, sir. But can’t go against Her Majesty’s wishes—’course not.”

I shrugged and took another faked sip, but before I had slipped it back into my pocket, Hallam huffed a huge cloud of smoke and reached out for the flask.

“I’d say Mother Mary herself wouldn’t deny an old man a sip of tonic wine on a night such as this.”

He tipped in a large slug, coughed, and closed his eyes in pleasure.

“It’s a very healthful concoction, sir,” I said.

“I would agree with you there, young Covington. A tonic indeed.”

The man took another gulp without removing his clay pipe.

“Oh, that is mighty warming. Your good mother must have … do give me the …”

The man’s words grew thick and trailed off. His pipe dropped from his mouth, and I darted behind him and grabbed him under the armpits as he slumped, lowering him safely onto his ledge. The apothecary had said to measure out the sleeping drops exactly, and I’d calculated that as long as the guard did not take more than two slugs, the tincture couldn’t harm him. He’d fallen quickly, as he was slight of build, but the ledge was high enough that he would be safe from the flood.

I fetched his pipe and propped it next to him. Then I liberated him of his keys.

The dragons were too big now for me to even imagine hiding them or smuggling them away. Farther along the main tunnel of the mine, past the dragons’ enclosure, I’d found a drainage pipe. It was big enough for me to crawl through on hands and knees and led to the main storm drain that must serve this whole area. I knew right away that it was their only chance of escape. I’d removed the grate that covered the drainage pipe and climbed into the main storm drain, which was at least ten feet wide, and a tube not so different from the lava tubes of Narborough—aside from the surging water, the damp, and the cold.

So many risks. One chance.

I unlocked the gate and hauled it open, water gushing between the bars. The air was warm inside the dragons’ enclosure, the braziers smoldering. Farthing stopped her swimming back and forth along the bars and nudged my hand. She and the other stronger lizards understood immediately, as I knew they would. I threw the bucket of rancid fish into the water, and Basalt, Magma, and Farthing gulped some down. The remaining lizards continued floating, uninterested in the food, but Farthing, Basalt, and Magma grabbed pieces in their jaws and nudged at their brothers and sisters with it. The other dragons started to raise their heads above water and take the food. I felt a strange tightness in my chest. What creature cared for its siblings like this? I wished Mr. Darwin were here to see it. To see them one last time.