My hoarse whisper died off and I managed to hold the cup myself, although my head felt as if it might float clear off my body. Mr Darwin observed me like a new specimen. If the young scientist wanted to make a name for himself, he had to understand that this would be the find of his life and would surely make him world famous.
‘You always tell me, sir, open eyes, open mind. The huge fossil skull you found . . . one of those ancient giants, sir, but alive, very . . . alive . . . a dragon. If the eggs die . . .’
My voice slurred and my eyelids drooped. I tried to blink them open and failed.
A dragging sound, and then Mr Darwin laid my hand upon the dry wood of the chest he had placed beside my cot.
Exhaustion overtook me so utterly that I wondered what the surgeon had put in that water.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
When I next awoke, Mr Darwin produced a bowl of bone broth which the ship’s cook, Phillips, had made especially for me. My mouth watered at the savoury smell. But first I checked on Farthing’s crate. I could only make out a dash of green through the slats. I needed to get her out.
‘Has she had food? Water? Sir?’ I asked.
‘She has,’ said Mr Darwin. ‘She eats all types of fish, bones and all. She’s not particular.’
I stole glances at Mr Darwin’s face as he helped me sip the broth. My stomach settled and the cabin no longer spun. Something had changed between us – the rules of servant and master didn’t fit as easily as they used to.
‘Farthing was wounded, sir. I would like to check on her. She is not dangerous . . . please, sir.’
Mr Darwin frowned. ‘You mean release her into sickbay? I do not think Mr Bynoe or Captain—’
‘There’s no one here, and they wouldn’t need to know, sir,’ I said quickly, and then flushed. I was interrupting, and my request was bold.
Mr Darwin stood, and I expected him to snatch the crate up and remove Farthing, but he crossed the cabin and pushed the door closed, shaking his head. Then he helped me sit up on the edge of the bunk. I was shaky but felt much better.
The young gentleman slid aside the front of the crate and adjusted his stool further back as he peered in. Farthing was curled in shadow at the back of the crate.
Nobody moved. I slid to the floor, sitting cross-legged in my nightshirt before her.
‘Farthing. You’re safe here.’
The lizard flicked her tail, and after a few seconds she moved towards me. I held out my hand and she butted it with her snout and gave a soft hoot. I grinned and although I could not take my gaze from Farthing, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Darwin lean forward to look closer. Her green scales seemed almost iridescent against the dull browns of the cabin and the crate, and her eyes caught the lamplight with a flash of new copper.
‘Now I see why you called her Farthing,’ whispered Mr Darwin.
I nodded. Farthing ventured out of the crate completely and turned to survey the room, remaining close to me. The ruff of scales was flat against her neck and I could see she was scared, but at least the wounds on her tail and side were crusted over.
‘She seems in good condition,’ said Mr Darwin.
He spoke softly, shadows falling long on his face by the light of the storm lamp.
Farthing sniffed the air. She stalked over to the door and snuffled at the base of it, then continued to investigate all the corners of the tiny cabin. Mr Darwin and I simply watched her.
I returned to the bed, the effort of sitting on the hard floor making me suddenly dizzy. When I laid back, Farthing jumped up by my side and rested her head on her foreclaws.
‘Remarkable,’ said Mr Darwin. I nodded. ‘The shape of its scales, and that colouring; quite unique for the reptiles of the islands. Sap green? I shall have to consult Werner.’
‘I thought pistachio green, sir.’
Our eyes met and we both smiled just a little.
‘Quite right. But we can’t have it – her – roaming . . .’
‘Just for a little while, sir? She saved my life. More than once.’
Silence. Just the creak of the boat timber, rope against cleats, the snap of the sail. Farthing saved my life and I saved Mr Darwin’s.
He cleared his throat, his eyes flicking between the lizard and me.
‘Ah yes, about the storm. You have had a remarkable experience, my good fellow,’ he paused, and I couldn’t meet his eyes. Mr Darwin had never called me that before.
‘I would dearly like to hear everything. From the moment we lost hold of each other in the squall. If you are ready to tell it.’
I smiled and reached for water. With Farthing beside me, I was ready.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I told Mr Darwin everything, the truth in all its burning impossible detail. Throughout the long tale, my master stroked his whiskers and watched me with those sharp, thoughtful eyes. He did not interrupt and didn’t take notes. I stammered a little – despite all the long days we spent together I’d never really spoken about myself – but was determined to tell it all. I even included my conversations with Scratch. The telling made it real again.
When I finished, my cheeks burning, breathless, Mr Darwin made me sip water. He waited for me to settle and then held something beneath the lamp. It glinted gold.
‘While you were sleeping, Mr Bynoe removed this nasty article from the sole of your foot, dear boy. Quite a splinter. It suggests at least one of the eggs you mention had . . . already hatched?’
I held out my hand and he dropped the shard of shell into it. It was a triangular curled sliver, as long as my thumbnail and almost as wide at the base. Gold struck through with black on the outer side, pale and pearly on the inside. Thin, but very hard. Already hatched?
I didn’t need to look at the dragon eggs to know it was from an egg like them.
‘I checked all the eggs myself,’ said Mr Darwin. ‘None are cracked.’
Farthing had nudged each egg into my arms. There couldn’t have been a newly hatched infant up there on the ledge too. Could there?
I imagined a miniature golden dragon. It might be helpless and blind like a baby bird, fallen from the ledge into the bones, unseen, as the lava filled the cave. I shivered. The mother dragon survived so maybe she had already rescued it when she found me at sea.
Mr Darwin sighed deeply and rubbed his shock of wispy hair. ‘I will think on this long and hard, Covington, you have my word. But I cannot imagine the anatomy of an animal with four legs and then two extra limbs – the wings you describe. There is no animal with this physiology, it is simply not possible. And for a creature of that magnitude to lift itself off the ground and fly . . . it is against the laws of physics, dear boy.’
I sunk back on to the pillows. ‘You don’t believe me, but it’s the truth, sir.’
‘I know you believe that. There is no shame in these imaginings, after the ordeal you have been through. No shame at all.’
Mr Darwin would not believe me because he could not believe me. It was not his fault; I hadn’t believed it myself at first, when I thought it was a sky beast that had swept me into the air. Dragons just weren’t believable.
‘Now then. When you are feeling stronger, Bynoe advises you spend some time on deck. Your only duty is to make a full recovery. But I think keep . . . aspects . . . of your experience on Narborough Island between you and me. By all means share your adventure with the crew, but possibly omit the parts about . . .’
‘The dragon,’ I said.
Mr Darwin nodded. I saw the sense in what he said. Being known as the poor boy who left his senses on a Galapagos island wasn’t going to help me. I needed to protect Farthing and those eggs.
I reached out to the chest beside my cot and Farthing butted my wrist.
The dragon’s eggs were safe. At that moment, I chose to believe they would hatch. And when they did, everyone would see the truth for themselves.
CHAPTER FORTY
The next stop on our voyage was the Polynesian island of Tahiti,
where green mountains rose out of lagoons of turquoise glass, surrounded by coral reefs. I was strong enough to go ashore and insisted Farthing come with me. The people were some of the friendliest we had met and paid little mind to the green lizard following me around. We stocked up on both meat and fruit. The sweet bananas made a welcome change, after a month of eating only the fish we caught and Cook Phillips’ lobscouse. Lobscouse was midday rations – made with potato, onion, salt pork and a pound of ship’s biscuit to soak it up.
New Zealand was different again. Mr Darwin was impressed with the tree ferns but disappointed by the lack of animals. We were all impatient to leave. Maybe a lot of the sailors were keen to be back on English soil, but I wasn’t one of them. I had all I needed right there on board.
When the call for ‘Land ho!’ came again, I gathered at the ship’s rails next to Mr Darwin, although without the telescope there was nothing to see yet. A tug on my breeches’ leg. I crouched and rested an arm on deck so Farthing could scamper the length of it and settle across my shoulders like a giant stole. She rarely did this, but I liked it when she did, although I was sure she was getting heavier than she used to be. It had now been a month since I’d been rescued.
I looked along the row of officers which Mr Darwin had insisted I join. I’d been spending more time with them than the men. Without my fiddle, I had little reason to be in the sailors’ mess, and Mr Darwin kept me busy at work in the captain’s cabin, preparing the specimens, labelling, logging and sketching. Mr Bynoe had been impressed with how quickly I had recovered from my Galapagos ordeal, both in body and mind, although my ear would never be right again; I had almost totally lost my hearing on that side. At first it had made my walking wobbly, but I had already grown used to it. Mr Bynoe had been confused by this injury.
‘The eardrum looks to be ruptured. How did this happen?’ he’d said, after peering into my ear through a funnel shaped instrument.
‘A very loud noise, sir,’ I said. I had looked to Mr Darwin who stood behind him, and he shook his head.
‘Hmm. I have never seen the like. And what made this noise?’
I blinked and glanced at Mr Darwin. ‘The . . . volcano, sir,’ I said.
Both men were silent.
‘An infection is a more probable cause,’ said Mr Bynoe, packing his case. My master’s headshake turned into a nod.
I took Mr Darwin’s advice, kept my thoughts and memories of the dragon locked away, like the eggs inside the chest.
My behaviour towards the eggs and Farthing gave Captain Fitzroy ‘cause for concern’ – he likely thought me addled in the mind and Mr Darwin addled for indulging me – but it couldn’t be helped. To find a boy presumed lost at sea, still alive after six days, was good luck for the ship, and the sailors tipped their caps at me. In general, we sailors were a fanciful lot and some even touched my shoulder and muttered – clutching at crucifixes and lucky charms, hoping my fortune would pass their way. The first time Farthing escaped the cabin, I had been awful feared she would leap from the rail and swim for home, or a sailor would take violent to her. It did not happen. In only a few days, the crew, and even the captain, accepted Farthing’s wanderings on deck. She never damaged anything, and her inquisitive nature and playfulness made the men laugh. She even won the heart of her rival, the ship’s cat; when Farthing caught rats, she delivered them to the big lazy ginger tom for him to devour. Farthing never ate a rat herself, much preferring the fish we caught, especially crabs and lobster, which she crunched up, shell and all.
I finally persuaded Mr Darwin to put me back on light deck duties as well as working with him in his cabin, and my body grew strong again. Farthing took to climbing the boom of the mainsail, basking in the Pacific sun. Even the sailors working aloft – who thought themselves a class above – didn’t mind her. She watched me from on high as I worked. At night, she could be coaxed back in her crate and even seemed to become used to it. Yes, it had been a strange month all right.
Mr Darwin broke through my thoughts.
‘Quite a picture. I’ve heard it is every bit as agreeable as it looks.’
Ahead of us spread Sydney harbour. The sun glittered bright on the water of the marina and the soft hills rising behind them were pale green. Even at a distance, the town seemed orderly and well-spaced, sheltered from the sea by the natural shape of the cove.
‘Covington, are you ready? I plan to take you ashore with me right away. Farthing will need to stay aboard without you for a short while.’
I opened my mouth and closed it again. Mr Darwin knew I didn’t like to confine her. He turned to me and smiled, eyes flashing beneath his brows.
‘Trust me, good fellow. This will be worth it. Even Farthing might agree.’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The bell rang as we entered the music shop and I gazed around, my mouth dropping open. Fiddles, yes, but other instruments too. The glow of brass caught the light from the window, dazzling me. Anything made of wood was buffed to a high shine the like of which I’d never seen, and a smell of varnish and wealth filled the shop.
‘Take your pick, Covington, don’t even glance at the price tags,’ said Mr Darwin. ‘You will try every fiddle in this shop, and I will buy the one that suits you best.’
The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows. He stood with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, and although his smile was friendly, he looked confused. I was freshly scrubbed and dressed in clean but well-worn sailor’s cloth, white pants and blue tunic, and hatless. I now wore the other sailor’s hand-me-downs, my own long since grown out of. I guessed I was not his usual customer.
My cheeks flushed and I gazed at the floor, wishing I had the weight of Farthing across my shoulders. Robbins was watching her for me, but she had whined when I’d climbed into the rowboat; we hadn’t been separated since she came aboard. I should have stayed on deck. Fancy music shops weren’t my world.
Mr Darwin took the shopkeeper aside, speaking close to his ear.
I clasped my hands together and watched the people walking past the window. Sydney was a new town, almost a city, and like none I’d seen on my travels. Echoes of England were everywhere, in the names of the parks and dusty roads, in the style of the houses. But all was fresh and bright under a crisp blue sky, nothing like the gloom and fog back home. Sydney was like a happier younger brother, still skipping in the street in knickerbockers with a ball and hoop, while his older brother London hauled coal in the dark. As soon as I fetched Farthing, I’d be plenty pleased to explore at Mr Darwin’s side and to take trips into the surrounding hills they called The Bush, although I had lost my enthusiasm for catching specimens.
The shopkeeper broke into a wide grin. ‘Good day, Syms Covington!’ he boomed, and gave my hand a hearty shake. ‘The boy hisself. Your adventure, sonny, is the talk of the town, from harbour taverns to ladies’ drawing rooms!’
I relaxed as I remembered this was Australia, not England, and that the rules of scruffy boys not being allowed in fancy shops didn’t work quite the same here. Even the accent was different. The Australian voices sounded like everything was a question that hadn’t been answered yet, as if anything could happen here, on the other side of the world.
I returned the shopkeeper’s firm handshake with a squeeze. Arm slung across my shoulder, he led me along the row of fiddles, describing the benefits of different woods, pegs and strings, makers, dates and nationalities. I couldn’t keep up.
Mr Darwin took a violin down from its hook.
‘I know it can’t replace Scratch. But I think it’s time you coaxed out a tune again, don’t you?’
I took the beautiful fiddle from my master. This instrument had a fancy chinrest and my jaw nestled perfectly. It felt different to the hard lines of Scratch. My hands shook.
When I drew the bow across the strings, I caught the scent of pine rosin and the first few notes took me back to the Narborough shore, filling the gaps in the tiny boat’s seams with that precious rosin. By the second bar, I closed my eyes
and I was spun back, way back, to when I was the smallest of boys, only just able to stretch my arm to grip the fiddle’s neck, and Da’s rough fingers covered my own as he helped me draw out my first note.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The first two months back in England Mr Darwin and I were busy every long day making sure the specimens which had been shipped back were safely preserved and stored.
Now Mr Darwin hunched over his mahogany desk in his new rooms in Cambridge, working on a paper that would be his first presentation to The Geological Society in a few weeks’ time.
I prised open another crate of specimens. This one was from Patagonia and was solely fossils. I lifted out a huge ancient bone and remembered the mother dragon attempting to heave herself from the lava. I shook my head, trying to scatter the memory. More of Mr Darwin’s shipping arrived every day at Woolwich docks, and it seemed my job of cataloguing and then sending on to the appropriate gentlemen, would never be done. The day was cold and grey, as it had seemed to be every day since we had returned, and there’d be many more like it as it was only December. What I’d do for just a flash of that Australian sun on my face. But truly, I had little to complain about. Mr Darwin and I shared a comfortable lodging – my work was steady and well paid, and best of all, Farthing barely left my side.
I looked down at my hand, still pockmarked with scars from the burns, and suddenly I was back in the dragon’s lair, then the lava was chasing me, Farthing racing ahead, the eggs clanking at my chest. My neck prickled with sweat, as I could feel that heat again. Too many memories today. I suddenly became aware Mr Darwin was calling me.
‘Covington. Syms. Covington! You look like your body is in England, but your head somewhere else entirely.’
I had never quite gotten over the injury to my eardrum. I was now partly deaf in that ear, but I didn’t like to remind Mr Darwin when he complained I wasn’t listening. Especially as he had plenty of his own ailments to deal with. The young master was either strong and hearty, or laid low with chest palpitations and headaches. Nothing in between.
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