Hooting, distant. I wasn’t imagining it; I turned my head to hear it with my good ear. I placed Sixpence in the water, and she swam. I waded behind her and Farthing, all the way to the access pipe opening. The hoots were coming from inside.

The water was flowing into the pipe at my knee level, sucking at my legs. Sixpence disappeared into the darkness, half swimming, half walking. Farthing waited, paddling against the flow, watching me.

“I can’t come with you,” I said.

She whined.

I stripped off my jacket and pulled off my boots. I needed to get her to the main storm drain and the others.

“Go on, then,” I said. “I’m right behind you.”

I crawled into the access pipe after her on my hands and knees, the water coming up to my elbows and flowing fast.

The other dragons had gathered at the end of the pipe, waiting where the water from the cave tumbled a small waterfall into the huge main storm drain, a churning underground river. As soon as the dragons joined this surge, they would be swept all the way to the Thames. Would they survive it?

I surveyed their strong, green-scaled bodies, their copper eyes shining in the dark. They weren’t like other animals. They were young dragons. If anything could survive this escape, they could.

The other option was to leave them pacing, trapped, their minds tortured … and that was wrong.

I had taken them as eggs, brought them here into danger, and now my only choice was to release them into more danger. Would it be better if I had never taken the eggs in the first place? No. They would have been caught in the solidifying lava, trapped forever, like flies in amber or one of Mr. Darwin’s fossils. The dragons huddled together, sniffing at the air, watching the storm surge go by. Waiting.

Waiting for Farthing, who was still by my side.

I crouched so her head was level with mine. She moved forward and pressed her snout to my forehead and gave the softest hoot, turning into a whine, then a mournful, rumbling growl. I held the back of her neck and tried to fix this moment in my mind. The feel of her scales, the heat of her breath, the flash of her eyes.

“Travel safe, Farthing. All of you. Stay bricky,” I said, choked.

The dragons stopped hooting and shuffled, edging toward the storm drain, sniffing at the air.

“Go,” I said, trying to keep the quiver from my voice. I waved my arm.

Farthing stared up at me.

“Go,” I said again, more forcefully. Farthing hooted, and the first two dragons jumped into the main storm drain and were swept away. Farthing hooted again, and the rest followed.

Her brothers and sisters would quickly be swept away.

“Farthing, you have to go. Now,” I said. I nudged her side and she growled. She didn’t want to leave, but how could she care so much for me? When had I come to deserve that? I remembered her mother, that terrifying golden sky beast. Even though she had feared for her eggs, she did not kill me—she allowed me to stay alive, giving me a chance to leave her and her young alone. These animals sensed we were intelligent just as they were; they valued human life.