by Naomi Novik
“Cows!” Volatilus said, staring at them with wide eyes.
“Come and have some with me, we can eat over here,” Temeraire said to the little grey, and sat up to snatch a pair of the cows over the wall of the pen. He laid them out in a clean grassy part of the field, and Volatilus eagerly trotted over to share when Temeraire beckoned.
“It is uncommonly generous of you, and of him,” James said, as Laurence led him to the cottage. “I have never seen one of the big ones share like that; what breed is he?”
“I am not myself an expert, and he came to us without provenance; but Sir Edward Howe has just today identified him as an Imperial,” Laurence said, feeling a little embarrassed; it seemed like showing off, but of course it was just plain fact, and he could not avoid telling people.
James stumbled over the threshold on the news and nearly fell into Fernao. “Are you—oh, Lord, you are not joking,” he said, recovering and handing his leather coat off. “But how did you find him, and how did you come to put him into harness?”
Laurence himself would never have dreamed of interrogating a host in such a way, but he concealed his opinion of James’s manners; the circumstances surely warranted some leeway. “I will be happy to tell you,” he said, showing the other man into the sitting room. “I should like your advice, in fact, on how I am to proceed. Will you have some tea?”
“Yes, although coffee if you have it,” James said, pulling a chair closer to the fire; he sprawled into it with his leg slung over the arm. “Damn, it’s good to sit for a minute; we have been in the air for seven hours.”
“Seven hours? You must be shattered,” Laurence said, startled. “I had no idea they could stay aloft that long.”
“Oh, bless you, I have been on fourteen-hour flights,” James said. “I shouldn’t try it with yours, though; Volly can stay up beating his wings once an hour, in fine weather.” He yawned enormously. “Still, it’s no joke, not with the air currents over the ocean.”
Fernao came in with coffee and tea, and once they were both served, Laurence briefly described Temeraire’s acquisition and harnessing for James, who listened in open amazement while drinking five cups of coffee and eating through two platefuls of sandwiches.
“So as you see, I am at something of a loss; Admiral Croft has written a dispatch to the Corps at Gibraltar asking for instructions regarding my situation, which I trust you will carry, but I confess I would be grateful for some idea of what to expect,” he finished.
“You’re asking the wrong fellow, I’m afraid,” James said cheerfully, draining a sixth cup. “Never heard of anything like it, and I can’t even give you advance warning about training. I was told off for the dispatch service by the time I was twelve, and on Volly by fourteen; you’ll be doing heavy combat with your beauty. But,” he added, “I’ll spare you any more waiting: I’ll pop over to the landing grounds, get the post, and take your admiral’s dispatch over tonight. I shouldn’t be surprised if you have a senior cap over to see you before dinnertime tomorrow.”
“I beg your pardon, a senior what?” Laurence said, forced to ask in desperation; James’s mode of speaking had grown steadily looser with the coffee he consumed.
“Senior captain,” James said. He grinned, swung his leg down, and climbed out of the chair, standing up on his toes to stretch. “You’ll make an aviator; I almost forget I’m not talking to one.”
“Thank you; that is a handsome compliment,” Laurence said, though privately he wished James would have made more of an effort to remember. “But surely you will not fly through the night?”
“Of course; no need to lie about here, in this weather. That coffee has put the life back in me, and on a cow Volly could fly to China and back,” he said. “We’ll have a better berth over on Gibraltar anyway. Off I go,” and with this remark he walked out of the sitting room, took his own coat from the closet, and strolled out the door whistling, while Laurence hesitated, taken aback, and only belatedly went after him.
Volly came bounding up to James with a couple of short fluttering hops, babbling to him excitedly about cows and “Temrer,” which was the best he could do at Temeraire’s name; James petted him and climbed back up. “Thanks again; will see you on my rounds if you do your training at Gibraltar,” he said, waved a hand, and with a flurry of grey wings they were a quickly diminishing figure in the twilight sky.
“He was very happy to have the cow,” Temeraire said after a moment, standing looking after them beside Laurence.
Laurence laughed at this faint praise and reached up to scratch Temeraire’s neck gently. “I am sorry your first meeting with another dragon was not very auspicious,” he said. “But he and James will be taking Admiral Croft’s message to Gibraltar for us, and in another day or two I expect you will be meeting more congenial minds.”
* * *
James had evidently not been exaggerating in his estimate, however; Laurence had just set out for town the next afternoon when a great shadow crossed over the harbor, and he looked up to see an enormous red-and-gold beast sailing by overhead, making for the landing grounds on the outskirts of the town. He at once set out for the Commendable, expecting any communication to reach him there, and none too soon; halfway there a breathless young midshipman tracked him down, and told him that Admiral Croft had sent for him.
Two aviators were waiting for him in Croft’s stateroom: Captain Portland, a tall, thin man with severe features and a hawksbill nose, who looked rather dragon-like himself, and Lieutenant Dayes, a young man scarcely twenty years of age, with a long queue of pale red hair and pale eyebrows to match, and an unfriendly expression. Their manner was as aloof as reputation made that of all aviators, and unlike James they showed no signs of unbending towards him.
“Well, Laurence, you are a very lucky fellow,” Croft said, as soon as Laurence had suffered through the stilted introductions, “We will have you back in the Reliant after all.”
Still in the process of considering the aviators, Laurence paused at this. “I beg your pardon?” he said.
Portland gave Croft a swift contemptuous glance; but then the remark about luck had certainly been tactless, if not offensive. “You have indeed performed a singular service for the Corps,” he said stiffly, turning to Laurence, “but I hope we will not have to ask you to continue that service any further. Lieutenant Dayes is here to relieve you.”
Laurence looked in confusion at Dayes, who stared back with a hint of belligerence in his eye. “Sir,” he said slowly; he could not quite think, “I was under the impression that a dragon’s handler could not be relieved: that he had to be present at its hatching. Am I mistaken?”
“Under ordinary circumstances, you are correct, and it is certainly desirable,” Portland said. “However, on occasion a handler is lost, to disease or injury, and we have been able to convince the dragon to accept a new aviator in more than half of such cases. I expect here that his youth will render Temeraire,” his voice lingered on the name with a faint air of distaste, “even more amenable to the replacement.”
“I see,” Laurence said; it was all he could manage. Three weeks ago, the news would have given him the greatest joy; now it seemed oddly flat.
“Naturally we are grateful to you,” Portland said, perhaps feeling some more civil response was called for. “But he will do much better in the hands of a trained aviator, and I am sure that the Navy cannot easily spare us so devoted an officer.”
“You are very kind, sir,” Laurence said formally, bowing. The compliment had not been a natural one, but he could see that the rest of the remark was meant sincerely enough, and it made perfect sense. Certainly Temeraire would do better in the hands of a trained aviator, a fellow who would handle him properly, the same way a ship would do better in the hands of a real seaman. It had been wholly an accident that Temeraire had been settled upon him, and now that he knew the truly extraordinary nature of the dragon, it was even more obvious that Temeraire deserved a partner with an equal degree of skill. “Of cou
rse you would prefer a trained man in the position if at all possible, and I am happy if I have been of any service. Shall I take Mr. Dayes to Temeraire now?”
“No!” Dayes said sharply, only to fall silent at a look from Portland.
Portland answered more politely, “No, thank you, Captain; on the contrary, we prefer to proceed exactly as if the dragon’s handler had died, to keep the procedure as close as possible to the set methods which we have devised for accustoming the creature to a new handler. It would be best if you did not see the dragon again at all.”
That was a blow. Laurence almost argued, but in the end he closed his mouth and only bowed again. If it would make the process of transition easier, it was only his duty to keep away.
Still, it was very unpleasant to think of never seeing Temeraire again; he had made no farewell, said no last kind words, and to simply stay away felt like a desertion. Sorrow weighed on him heavily as he left the Commendable, and it had not dissipated by evening; he was meeting Riley and Wells for dinner, and when he came into the parlor of the hotel where they were waiting for him, it was an effort to give them a smile and say, “Well, gentlemen, it seems you are not to be rid of me after all.”
They looked surprised; shortly they were both congratulating him enthusiastically, and toasting his freedom. “It is the best news I have heard in a fortnight,” Riley said, raising a glass. “To your health, sir.” He was very clearly sincere despite the promotion it would likely cost him, and Laurence was deeply affected; consciousness of their true friendship lifted the grief at least a little, and he was able to return the toast with something approaching his usual demeanor.
“It does seem they went about it rather strangely, though,” Wells said a little later, frowning over Laurence’s brief description of the meeting. “Almost like an insult, sir, and to the Navy, too; as though a naval officer were not good enough for them.”
“No, not at all,” Laurence said, although privately he did not feel very sure of his interpretation. “Their concern is for Temeraire, I am sure, and rightly so, as well as for the Corps; one could scarcely expect them to be glad at the prospect of having an untrained fellow on the back of so valuable a creature, any more than we would like to see an Army officer given command of a first-rate.”
So he said, and so he believed, but that was not very much of a consolation. As the evening wore on, he grew more rather than less conscious of the grief of parting, despite the companionship and the good food. It had already become a settled habit with him to spend the nights reading with Temeraire, or talking to him, or sleeping by his side, and this sudden break was painful. He knew that he was not perfectly concealing his feelings; Riley and Wells gave him anxious glances as they talked more to cover his silences, but he could not force himself to a feigned display of happiness which would have reassured them.
The pudding had been served and he was making an attempt to get some of it down when a boy came running in with a note for him: it was from Captain Portland; he was asked in urgent terms to come to the cottage. Laurence started up from the table at once, barely making a few words of explanation, and dashed out into the street without even waiting for his overcoat. The Madeira night was warm, and he did not mind the lack, particularly after he had been walking briskly for a few minutes; by the time he reached the cottage he would have been glad of an excuse to remove his neckcloth.
The lights were on inside; he had offered the use of the establishment to Captain Portland for their convenience, as it was near the field. When Fernao opened the door for him, he came in to find Dayes with his head in his hands at the dinner table, surrounded by several other young men in the uniform of the Corps, and Portland standing by the fireplace and gazing into it with a rigid, disapproving expression.
“Has something happened?” Laurence asked. “Is Temeraire ill?”
“No,” Portland said shortly, “he has refused to accept the replacement.”
Dayes abruptly pushed up from the table and took a step towards Laurence. “It is not to be borne! An Imperial in the hands of some untrained Navy clodpole—” he cried. He was stifled by his friends before anything more could escape him, but the expression had still been shockingly offensive, and Laurence at once gripped the hilt of his sword.
“Sir, you must answer,” he said angrily, “that is more than enough.”
“Stop that; there is no dueling in the Corps,” Portland said. “Andrews, for God’s sake put him to bed and get some laudanum into him.” The young man restraining Dayes’s left arm nodded, and he and the other three pulled the struggling lieutenant out of the room, leaving Laurence and Portland alone, with Fernao standing wooden-faced in the corner still holding a tray with the port decanter upon it.
Laurence wheeled on Portland. “A gentleman cannot be expected to tolerate such a remark.”
“An aviator’s life is not only his own; he cannot be allowed to risk it so pointlessly,” Portland said flatly. “There is no dueling in the Corps.”
The repeated pronouncement had the weight of law, and Laurence was forced to see the justice in it; his hand relaxed minutely, though the angry color did not leave his face. “Then he must apologize, sir, to myself and to the Navy; it was an outrageous remark.”
Portland said, “And I suppose you have never made nor listened to equally outrageous remarks made about aviators, or the Corps?”
Laurence fell silent before the open bitterness in Portland’s voice. It had never before occurred to him that aviators themselves would surely hear such remarks and resent them; now he understood still more how savage that resentment must be, given that they could not even make answer by the code of their service. “Captain,” he said at last, more quietly, “if such remarks have ever been made in my presence, I may say that I have never been responsible for them myself, and where possible I have spoken against them harshly. I have never willingly heard disparaging words against any division of His Majesty’s armed forces; nor will I ever.”
It was now Portland’s turn to be silent, and though his tone was grudging, he did finally say, “I accused you unjustly; I apologize. I hope that Dayes, too, will make his apologies when he is less distraught; he would not have spoken so if he had not just suffered so bitter a disappointment.”
“I understood from what you said that there was a known risk,” Laurence said. “He ought not have built his expectations so high; surely he can expect to succeed with a hatchling.”
“He accepted the risk,” Portland said. “He has spent his right to promotion. He will not be permitted to make another attempt, unless he wins another chance under fire; and that is unlikely.”
So Dayes was in the same position which Riley had occupied before their last voyage, save perhaps with even less chance, dragons being so very rare in England. Laurence still could not forgive the insult, but he understood the emotion better; and he could not help feeling pity for the fellow, who was after all only a boy. “I see; I will be happy to accept an apology,” he said; it was as far as he could bring himself to go.
Portland looked relieved. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Now, I think it would be best if you went to speak to Temeraire; he will have missed you, and I believe he was not pleased to be asked to take on a replacement. I hope we may speak again tomorrow; we have left your bedroom untouched, so you need not shift for yourself.”
Laurence needed little encouragement; moments later he was striding to the field. As he drew near, he could make out Temeraire’s bulk by the light of the half-moon: the dragon was curled in small upon himself and nearly motionless, only stroking his gold chain between his foreclaws. “Temeraire,” he called, coming through the gate, and the proud head lifted at once.
“Laurence?” he said; the uncertainty in his voice was painful to hear.
“Yes, I am here,” Laurence said, crossing swiftly to him, almost running at the end. Making a soft crooning noise deep in his throat, Temeraire curled both forelegs and wings around him and nuzzled him carefully;
Laurence stroked the sleek nose.
“He said you did not like dragons, and that you wanted to be back on your ship,” Temeraire said, very low. “He said you only flew with me out of duty.”
Laurence went breathless with rage; if Dayes had been in front of him he would have flown at the man bare-handed and beaten him. “He was lying, Temeraire,” he said with difficulty; he was half-choked by fury.
“Yes; I thought he was,” Temeraire said. “But it was not pleasant to hear, and he tried to take away my chain. It made me very angry. And he would not leave, until I put him out, and then you still did not come; I thought maybe he would keep you away, and I did not know where to go to find you.”
Laurence leaned forward and laid his cheek against the soft, warm hide. “I am so very sorry,” he said. “They persuaded me it was in your best interests to stay away and let him try; but I should have seen what kind of a fellow he was.”
Temeraire was quiet for several minutes, while they stood comfortably together, then said, “Laurence, I suppose I am too large to be on a ship now?”
“Yes, pretty much, except for a dragon transport,” Laurence said, lifting his head; he was puzzled by the question.
“If you would like to have your ship back,” Temeraire said, “I will let someone else ride me. Not him, because he says things that are not true; but I will not make you stay.”
Laurence stood motionless for a moment, his hands still on Temeraire’s head, with the dragon’s warm breath curling around him. “No, my dear,” he said at last, softly, knowing it was only the truth. “I would rather have you than any ship in the Navy.”
II
Chapter 4
“N O, THROW YOUR chest out deeper, like so.” Laetificat stood up on her haunches and demonstrated, the enormous barrel of her red-and-gold belly expanding as she breathed in.