We tabled the discussion for lunch and joined the others in the dining hall.

The luncheon was a buffet for the table. Waiters served drinks, but otherwise, each guest had the same options before them.

I drank lime and soda and ate finger foods. It was all very fancy.

“I do so love flying,” Lady Innsford confessed to me. She ate hastily, as if afraid the meal might disappear. I expected she was living on Lady Winchester’s charity and that charity just might be running out these days. She didn’t look like a dark temptress, which made me believe that Darrien had been the pursuer in that relationship. “It is stylish and fun.”

“You aren’t afraid of the heights?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. My father built engines for flight, I’ve always loved it.”

There was an innocent joy in her words, and I gave her my attention. The Duchess and Lady Winchester were talking about flowers with the Earl—I had missed the why of the rather intense debate they were having—and that left me with a chance to probe Mary.

I smiled. “This is my first time in the air.”

“Oh, truly? You haven’t seen the observation deck yet, have you?” There was a lot of excitement now. She placed her napkin on the table. “Oh, come now, Rose. While we’re still over the best of the countryside.”

I wanted a chance to talk to her more, see if I could get some more information about Lady Winchester at least. It would be a good chance now, while Elizabeth was discussing flowers with the Duke. She took my wrist and tugged me with her.

Mary reminded me of Charlie; a little more feminine, but full of life and wonder.

We ended up at the very bottom of the ship: a gigantic glass bowl thick enough to stand on. Thin metal rafters secured it to the ship and Mary explained that a steel eye opened and contracted to ensure it was safe during take-off and set-down.

She pulled me, somewhat resisting, out into the middle of the bowl and I made small squeaking noises of terror as we stood on glass that vibrated under foot and stared down at a landscape below us in a field of clouds.

“See that?” Mary pointed to the large, faint glow above us, painting the inside of the glass with a faint blue glow. “That is the Aetheric reactor. All the best ships use one. We get them from Africa, you know.”

She went on. “From this side of the continent to the other, the ship doesn’t need to refuel, we only have to stop for supplies. We’re in a new age.”

Exhilarating.

I teetered on the glass.

“I’ve got you, it is okay. Trust me, Rose.”

The ground looked so tiny beneath my fingertips: trees, rivers, cars—little more than specks. I saw the world in a whole new light. The vision would have made Charlie ecstatic; she loved landscapes.

“Oh Charlie, would have loved this, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful!” I sank to my knees and touched the glass as though I might cup a cloud in my fingers.

Tears caught in my throat.

“I’m sorry, Mary. For a moment…”

I tore myself from her face and pulled my handkerchief out, dabbing away my shame.

“It’s okay. We’re all a bit weepy these days.”

“I don’t mean to cry. I’m such a mess. Charlie used to do my crying for me, and now I’ve no idea how I’m supposed to cry for myself.”

Mary offered me a hand and I stood. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I’ve done my fair share of crying the last few days.”

I gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”

We cleaned ourselves up in the bathroom and then spent some time watching the clouds and the landscape under our feet.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask her any questions.

“The last time I saw such a beautiful sight was with my Mother; she used to love flying,” Mary confided.

“That must have been a delight as a child.”

“It was. We visited most of England, summered in Spain.” Her voice caught on the last word and I realized her mother was probably dead.

“I’ve never been to Spain. What is it like?”

“Oh, hard to describe, really. The weather is nicer; can’t say I like the food much, but I loved the music and dances.”

She looked at me through her lashes. “I thought I might go there with Darrien on a honeymoon.”

“You wanted to marry him?”

“Still do. My family doesn’t have money like the Winchesters, you see. And I am afraid that is what matters most to Duchess Montagu; a rich family so she can keep the Cardigan titles and lands afloat.”

I nodded. “It is the practical approach, I suppose.”

“It’s repulsive. Auctioning her sons off to the highest bidder.”

“It must have hurt when you found out Darrien said yes to the engagement?”

She flinched. Her shoulders crumpled and she looked at me with such wide, hurt eyes that I realized I had told her something no one else had.

Hearing it from a stranger must have been devastating when she should have heard it from Darrien himself, or Lady Winchester. The people Mary thought were friends. Not a stranger.

I held up a hand, wanting to comfort the poor thing, but she stood. “Thank you, Rose. I think I should rest in my cabin a while before we land.”

There I went again, breaking another woman’s spirit. The way that the Duchess and the Duke had spoken about the issue, I assumed it to already have been done and dusted. I had foolishly thought that meant Lady Innsford and Winchester had resolved their feelings. How many sordid details would I uncover before this affair was put right?

A prime reason why Ben did the talking.

I retreated to my cabin and set about trying to decipher the heady Latin that would lead to, hopefully, a solution to the dragon problem.

Ben took afternoon tea with the Duke and I had an hour to waste with the book in my lap. An accounting from a Benedictine. I borrowed the book by means of smuggling it from the archives. The age and gold trim kept this tome in the restricted borrowing section. The card inserted on the last page told me no one had requested the thing in a long, long time. Dragons being hunted to extinction, I might well think the only interest came from the academics.

The Hagiography of Saint George, the Golden Legend

In a small town in Georgia there is a great poisoned pond in which a servant of Satan himself did dwell.

Zmei the Dragon of the Abyss was known to the people as a great and terrible tyrant.

Each day they did offer the dragon sheep and cow. Goat and chicken.

But the three-headed beast had a terrible appetite that could never be sated, and the people feared for their town.

We landed in Cardiff after I finally got through the first few pages of the dense text. I was copying out what I thought might be useful, but so far all I had was a rough description of overgrown lizards and how the common dragon and wyvern were not to be mistaken; one had four legs, the other had prehensile hooks on the wings. The poorly-formatted text started on the stories of Saint George after a tedious description of the beasts. Interestingly, the author proposed that dragons had been around since the time that dinosaurs walked the earth. I’d thought dragons were from biblical texts, but I was hardly an expert.

The ship landed in Ceredigion in the late afternoon about an hour from the Cardigan estate. Darrien had called in cabs ahead of time and we loaded up.

They were old horse and cart drawn vehicles this far out from London and I kept my distance from the horses; I was awful with beasts. Charlie had liked to joke that I could drown a goldfish.

I was stuck with Darrien and his mother, through no fault of my own.

“I am glad they at least teach officers to read these days,” she announced over the rim of the book.

I glanced up at her. “I was taught to read in school, like most folk, Duchess Montagu.”

“No doubt. Then I don’t see why you are struggling with that book.”

“It’s in Latin.”

“You weren’t taught your Latin at school?”

“I was, but it’s a dead language and I’m afraid I spend most of my time speaking the King’s English.”

“Quicumque damnantur praeteritis memoria repetere,” she said.

“Mother, what is your problem with the inspector, really?” Darrien growled.

“The inspector has failed to impress me with any actions so far.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I shall endeavour to try harder, then, Your Grace.”

For as many as the memory of the past are condemned to repeat it. My brain caught up to her words.

She sniffed. “I doubt you shall succeed.”

Darrien placed a hand on his mother’s lap. “Mother, please. Rose is here to stop me from being killed. A few manners can be spared.”

“If the good inspector had found our murderer back in London already, we’d be free of her. Isn’t that her job?”

“Be that as it may, perhaps you might find some charity in your soul along with a little slip of patience?” Darrien snapped.

The Duchess gave him a withering glare.

We passed some time talking about the weather in Cardigan and then lapsed into uncomfortable silence. I was delighted when the stone walls to a large estate loomed in the dark and we clattered over a stone bridge.

It was built over eight-hundred years ago, when the Normans hoped to set up stronger fortifications. I knew there had been an offer to buy the place and use it as a prison, which had been declined a few hundred years ago. The Duke’s grandfather had added a mansion house to the tower rising over the fortress walls.

The castle sat surrounded by a moat, the waters black and still at this hour of night. The township was a far cry from London, but I could never really escape that damp stone smell that clung to the landscape.

We pulled up at the coach-house and servants came out to meet us, taking away luggage and whisking us inside where supper waited.

In some ways, Cardigan stepped us back in time. The War had been fought with pistols and tanks, with airships dropping bombs and the telephone conveying information to this orchestra. This was a castle built to stand against siege, built to weather ballista, knights on horseback. Dragons. I was staring at a prominent chunk of British history, a bastion of the Old World.

The mansion was splendid inside. Golden-polished buttresses, a canvas of Renaissance artwork had been spread across ceilings, family portraits lined walls, suits of Welsh armour stood in the stairwells and the Cardigan crest, a phoenix wrapped around a cross, was carved into banisters and shields mounted from on high.

I expected the place to be chilly, but a fire crackled in the East wing guest room I was ushered into. My escort was a round woman, with a cheeky grin and stained sleeves and apron. She had a large mole and a look of a matron who baulked no fools.

“Is there another house on the grounds, removed from the mansion?” I asked, the question a little out of the blue, but a coach house or separate apartment would be the best place to secure the Duke for the night. If we could work on the suspects during the day and keep him alive, we would gain the advantage. My plan was to hide him. Not valiant, but I was playing it cautiously.

The maid placed a heavy log on the fire, bustled to the bed to turn one of the edges over and adjusted the drapes. “There’s the coach house, Ma’am. Is there something you not liking about your room?”

I waved the comment down. “No, no, I like it plenty. Now, the coach house: does it have a bedding room?”

She could not have looked more affronted than if I had slapped her. “Well yes, Ma’am—but this room is made specially for you. I cleaned and set the bed meself.”

“I’m sorry, there isn’t anything wrong with the room.” I tried a smile but apparently I’d affronted her enough with the impertinent questions.

She bustled out and I sighed. It was a lovely room. Much nicer than my own apartment. I was tired. I wasn’t used to being awake for long periods of time, and I certainly wasn’t used to all the travel and activity.

I washed up and dressed for dinner.