Page 106 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
Muted by the tall house, we could hear the ruckus of shouts in the front street. A gun fired, and I was suddenly, painfully terrified for my husband.
Harriet caught my shoulders—I had turned to go back—and held me firmly. “Do not worry. Mr. Knightley sneaks around armies all the time. He is an adventurer. They never catch him.”
I nodded, trying to imagine him grinning and regaling us with stories of troops running the wrong way.
“What was all that nonsense about blasphemous seraphim?” she asked.
That was likely to distract me, but the question was important. I had thought about it while Mr. Elton ranted.
“Queen Mary sent the amulet to the Witch of Woodhouse,” I said. “You remember in the square it says ‘the Witch of Woodhouse did scrye for the Queen Mary, and great magicks of draca were born’.”
“I thought the magic was the amulet.”
I shook my head. “The amulet was given to her. I think my great—I am not sure how many ‘greats’—grandmother, the ‘Witch,’ used the amulet to find something at Donwell Abbey. Something serpentine and winged and fiery. The sapphire dragon of song.”
Harriet’s jaw dropped. “Are you joking?”
“Not joking, but not sure, either. We must find out. I saw the glow when we were there, I just did not recognize it. But I saw it again in the vision. If there is a dragon of song, Georgiana and Mary must be told.”
“So, what now? To the Abbey?”
“That comes last. First to the Westons, to meet Mr. Knightley, and then to Hartfield. Mr. Elton is taking the girls there. He will bind them to the crawlers that John bred.” A reckless resolve filled me. I would not run and let him hurt more women. “We must save them.”
31
THE RESCUE
MARY
“Mary!”a woman’s musical voice insisted, again.
“Let me sleep,” I muttered. This time, when I woke in Rebecca’s room I would reach up and find my spectacles on the first try. The colonel would be well and waiting, and we would… no, we already went to the museum…
Cool, slim fingers stroked my forehead, my temples.
“Ow,” I protested as pain lanced my ear.
Gentle arms slipped around me and hugged me. Disheveled hair scented of Georgiana flooded my cheeks and nostrils.
Painfully I got my arms around her and held tight. “Help me up.” Strange sparks pinged across my vision. Pain flared in bruised joints and muscles.
A man’s sturdy grip steadied my elbow, and Mr. Darcy said, “Is she well enough to stand?”
“Yes,” I answered for myself, forcing sticky eyelids apart and getting my feet under me. Some residue of panic made me bat away the helping hands. The unseen touches were too like swarming crawlers.
Rebecca was sitting on the courtyard paving stones, hugging her bent legs and resting her forehead on her knees. I knelt by her to check her pulse and pupils, but when I asked her to count my fingers, she protested, “Enough, Mary. I feel better every minute. We are far more worried about you.”
Her neck had been bandaged, a neat job with a pad of muslin secured by a torn strip of very fine white cloth. I touched it to check the tension, and the curator’s long, lean form crouched down on the other side of Rebecca. “I took the liberty, Miss Bennet. There was no one else to help, at first. Is it satisfactory?”
“Very good. The French let you go?”
He sniffed. “Hardly. They never saw me. It is difficult enough to find cataloged items, and those stay in place. An animate object seeking obscurity is quite unrecoverable.” His expression turned grave. “I am no doctor, but the soldier seemed past help.”
I nodded; Colonel Fremantle had died instantly. His body was covered with a large swath of the same white cloth, probably something the museum used to wrap artifacts. I had an incongruous, sad flash of him telling the story of his lost Spanish beauty.
Song draca were scattered on the stones, their feathered wings ragged in death. Some looked crushed. Others lay in puddles of golden ichor, their scales ripped. There were not too many dead, not all who came, but it was a horrible toll.
Georgiana’s fingers, cautiously, returned to my shoulder. Now her caress felt wonderful, an anchor. I rested my cheek on her fingers then stood, sorting too few facts into too long a gap. “How did you get here?” She was dressed oddly, a sturdy wool redingote thrown over her stunning but thin red silkqípáo.
