by Naomi Novik
Deep niches were built into the long wall at regular intervals, and a fence of wrought-iron barred them from the rest of the room while leaving them visible. Perhaps half the niches were empty; the other half were padded with fabric, and each held a single massive egg. “They must be kept warm, you see, since we cannot spare the dragons to brood over them, or let them bury them near volcanoes or suchlike, as they would in nature.”
“And there is no space to make a separate chamber for them?” Laurence said, surprised.
“Of course there is space,” Granby said rudely; Martin glanced at him and leapt in hastily, before Laurence could react.
“You see, everyone is in and out of here often, so if one of them begins to look a bit hard we are more likely to notice it,” he said hurriedly.
Still trying to rein in his temper, Laurence let Granby’s remark pass and nodded to Martin; he had read in Sir Edward’s books how unpredictable dragon egg hatching was, until the very end; even knowing the species could only narrow the process down to a span of months or, for the larger breeds, years.
“We think the Anglewing over there may hatch soon; that would be famous,” Martin went on, pointing at a golden-brown egg, its sides faintly pearlescent and spotted with flecks of brighter yellow. “That is Obversaria’s get; she is the flag-dragon at the Channel. I was signal-ensign aboard her, fresh out of training, and no beast in her class can touch her for maneuvering.”
Both of the aviators looked at the eggs with wistful expressions, longingly; of course each of those represented a rare chance of promotion, and one even more uncertain than the favor of the Admiralty, which might be courted or won by valor in the field. “Have you served with many dragons?” Laurence asked Martin.
“Only Obversaria and then Inlacrimas; he was injured in a skirmish over the Channel a month ago, and so here I am on the ground,” Martin said. “But he will be fit for duty again in a month, and I got a promotion out of it, so I shouldn’t complain; I am just made midwingman,” he added proudly. “And Granby here has been with more; four, is that not right? Who before Laetificat?”
“Excursius, Fluitare, and Actionis,” Granby answered, very briefly.
But the first name had been enough; Laurence finally understood, and his face hardened. The fellow likely was friend to Lieutenant Dayes; at any rate, the two of them had been the equivalent of shipmates until recently, and it was now clear to him that Granby’s offensive behavior was not simply the general resentment of an aviator for a naval officer shoehorned into his service, but also a personal matter, and thus in some sense an extension of Dayes’s original insult.
Laurence was far less inclined to tolerate any slight for such a cause, and he said abruptly, “Let us continue, gentlemen.” He allowed no further delays during the remainder of the tour, and let Martin carry the conversation as he would, without giving any response that might draw it out. They came back to the dressing room after completing the circuit of the baths, and once dressed again, Laurence said quietly but firmly, “Mr. Granby, you will take me to the feeding grounds now; then I may set you at liberty.” He had to make it clear to the man that the disrespect would not be tolerated; if Granby were to make another fling, he would have to be checked, and better by far were that to occur in private. “Mr. Martin, I am obliged to you for your company, and your explanations; they have been most valuable.”
“You are very welcome,” Martin said, looking between Laurence and Granby uncertainly, as if afraid of what might happen if he left them alone. But Laurence had made his hint quite unmistakable, and despite the informality Martin seemed able to see that it had nearly the weight of an order. “I will see you both at supper, I imagine; until then.”
In silence Laurence continued with Granby to the feeding grounds, or rather to a ledge that overlooked them, at the far end of the training valley. The mouth of a natural cul-de-sac was visible at the far end of the valley, and Laurence could see several herdsmen there on duty; Granby explained, in a flat voice, that when signaled from the ledge, these would pick out the appropriate number of beasts for a dragon and send them into the valley, where the dragon might hunt them down and eat, so long as no training flight was in progress.
“It is straightforward enough, I trust,” Granby said, in conclusion; his tone was highly disagreeable, and yet another step over the line, as Laurence had feared.
“Sir,” Laurence said quietly. Granby blinked in momentary confusion, and Laurence repeated, “It is straightforward enough, sir.”
He hoped it would be enough to warn Granby off from further disrespect, but almost unbelievably, the lieutenant answered back, saying, “We do not stand on ceremony here, whatever you may have been used to in the Navy.”
“I have been used to courtesy; where I do not receive it, I will insist at the least on the respect due to rank,” Laurence said, his temper breaking loose; he glared savagely at Granby, and felt the color coming into his face. “You will amend your address immediately, Lieutenant Granby, or by God I shall have you broken for insubordination; I do not imagine that the Corps takes quite so light a view of it as one might gather from your behavior.”
Granby went very pale; the sunburn across his cheeks stood out red. “Yes, sir,” he said, and stood sharply at attention.
“Dismissed, Lieutenant,” Laurence said at once, and turned away to gaze out over the field with arms clasped behind his back until Granby had left; he did not want to even look at the fellow again. With the sustaining flush of righteous anger gone, he was tired, and miserable to have met with such treatment; in addition he now had to anticipate with dismay the consequences he knew would follow on his having checked the man. Granby had seemed on their first instant of meeting to be friendly and likable by nature; even if he were not, he was still one of the aviators, and Laurence an interloper. Granby’s fellows would naturally support him, and their hostility could only make Laurence’s circumstances unpleasant.
But there had been no alternative; open disrespect could not be borne, and Granby had known very well that his behavior was beyond the pale. Laurence was still downcast when he turned back inside; his spirits rose only as he walked into the courtyard and found Temeraire awake and waiting for him. “I am sorry to have abandoned you so long,” Laurence said, leaning against his side and petting him, more for his own comfort than Temeraire’s. “Have you been very bored?”
“No, not at all,” Temeraire said. “There were a great many people who came by and spoke to me; some of them measured me for a new harness. Also, I have been talking to Maximus here, and he tells me we are to train together.”
Laurence nodded a greeting to the Regal Copper, who had acknowledged the mention of his name by opening a sleepy eye; Maximus lifted his massive head enough to return the gesture, and then sank back down. “Are you hungry?” Laurence asked, turning back to Temeraire. “We must be up early to fly for Celeritas—that is the training master here,” he added, “so you will likely not have time in the morning.”
“Yes, I would like to eat,” Temeraire said; he seemed wholly unsurprised to have a dragon as training master, and in the face of his pragmatic response, Laurence felt a little silly for his own first shock; of course Temeraire would see nothing strange in it.
Laurence did not bother strapping himself back on completely for the short hop to the ledge, and there he dismounted to let Temeraire hunt without a passenger. The uncomplicated pleasure of watching the dragon soar and dive so gracefully did a great deal to ease Laurence’s mind. No matter how the aviators should respond to him, his position was secure in a way that no sea captain could hope for; he had experience in managing unwilling men, if it came to that in his crew, and at least Martin’s example showed that not all the officers would be prejudiced against him from the beginning.
There was some other comfort also: as Temeraire swooped and snatched a lumbering shaggy-haired cow neatly off the ground and settled down to eat it, Laurence heard enthusiastic murmuring and looked up to see a row
of small heads poking out of the windows above. “That is the Imperial, sir, is he not?” one of the boys, sandy-haired and round-faced, called out to him.
“Yes, that is Temeraire,” Laurence answered. He had always made an effort towards the education of his young gentlemen, and his ship had been considered a prime place for a squeaker; he had many family and service friends to do favors for, so he had fairly extensive experience of boys, most of it favorable. Unlike many grown men, he was not at all uncomfortable in their company, even if these were younger than most of his midshipmen ever had been.
“Look, look, how smashing,” another one, smaller and darker, cried and pointed; Temeraire was skimming low to the ground and collecting up all three sheep that had been released for him, before stopping to eat again.
“I dare say you all have more experience of dragonflight than I; does he show to advantage?” he asked them.
“Oh, yes,” was the general and enthusiastic response. “Corners on a wink and a nod,” the sandy-haired boy said, adopting a professional tone, “and splendid extension; not a wasted wingbeat. Oh, ripping,” he added, dissolving back into a small boy, as Temeraire backwinged to take the last cow.
“Sir, you haven’t picked your runners yet, have you?” another dark-haired one asked hopefully, which at once set up a clamor among all the others; all of them announcing their worthiness for what Laurence gathered was some position to which particularly favored cadets were assigned, in a dragon-crew.
“No; and I imagine when I do it will be on the advice of your instructors,” he said, with mock severity. “So I dare say you ought to mind them properly the next few weeks. There, have you had enough?” he asked, as Temeraire rejoined him on the ledge, landing directly on the edge with perfect balance.
“Oh yes, they were very tasty; but now I am all over blood, may we go and wash up?” Temeraire said.
Laurence realized belatedly this had been omitted from his tour; he glanced up at the children. “Gentlemen, I must ask you for direction; shall I take him to the lake for bathing?”
They all stared down at him with round surprised eyes. “I have never heard of bathing a dragon,” one of them said.
The sandy-haired one added, “I mean, can you imagine trying to wash a Regal? It would take ages. Usually they lick their chops and talons clean, like a cat.”
“That does not sound very pleasant; I like being washed, even if it is a great deal of work,” Temeraire said, looking at Laurence anxiously.
Laurence suppressed an exclamation and said equably, “Certainly it is a great deal of work, but so are many other things that ought to be done; we shall go to the lake at once. Only wait here a moment, Temeraire; I will go and fetch some linens.”
“Oh, I will bring you some!” The sandy-haired boy vanished from the windows; the rest immediately followed, and scarcely five minutes later the whole half a dozen of them had come spilling out onto the ledge with a pile of imperfectly folded linens whose provenance Laurence suspected.
He took them anyway, thanking the boys gravely, and climbed back aboard, making a mental note of the sandy-haired fellow; it was the sort of initiative he liked to see and considered the making of an officer.
“We could bring our carabiner belts tomorrow, and then we could ride along and help,” the boy added now, with a too-guileless expression.
Laurence eyed him and wondered if this was forwardness to discourage, but he was secretly cheered by the enthusiasm, so he contented himself with saying firmly, “We shall see.”
They stood watching from the ledge, and Laurence saw their eager faces until Temeraire came around the castle and they passed out of sight. Once at the lake, he let Temeraire swim about to clean off the worst of the gore, then wiped him down with particular care. It was appalling to a man raised to daily holystoning of the deck that aviators should leave their beasts to keep themselves clean, and as he rubbed down the sleek black sides, he suddenly considered the harness. “Temeraire, does this chafe you at all?” he asked, touching the straps.
“Oh, not very often now,” Temeraire said, turning his head to look. “My hide is getting a great deal tougher; and when it does bother me I can shift it a little, and then it is better straightaway.”
“My dear, I am covered with shame,” Laurence said. “I ought never have kept you in it; from now on you shall not wear it for an instant while it is not necessary for our flying together.”
“But is it not required, like your clothing?” Temeraire said. “I would not like anyone to think I was not civilized.”
“I shall get you a larger chain to wear about your neck, and that will serve,” Laurence said, thinking of the golden collar Celeritas wore. “I am not going to have you suffering for a custom that so far as I can tell is nothing but laziness; and I am of a mind to complain of it in the strongest terms to the next admiral I see.”
He was as good as his word and stripped the harness from Temeraire the moment they landed in the courtyard. Temeraire looked a little nervously at the other dragons, who had been watching with interest from the moment the two of them had returned with Temeraire still dripping from the lake. But none of them seemed shocked, only curious, and once Laurence had detached the gold-and-pearl chain and wrapped it around one of Temeraire’s talons, rather like a ring, Temeraire relaxed entirely and settled back down on the warm flagstones. “It is more pleasant not to have it on; I had not realized how it would be,” he confided quietly to Laurence, and scratched at a darkened spot on his hide where a buckle had rested and crushed together several scales into a callus.
Laurence paused in cleaning the harness and stroked him in apology. “I do beg your forgiveness,” he said, looking at the galled spot with remorse. “I will try and find a poultice for these marks.”
“I want mine off, too,” chirped one of the Winchesters suddenly, and flitted down from Maximus’s back to land in front of Laurence. “Will you, please?”
Laurence hesitated; it did not seem right to him to handle another man’s beast. “I think perhaps your own handler is the only one who ought to remove it,” he said. “I do not like to give offense.”
“He has not come for three days,” the Winchester said sadly, his small head drooping; he was only about the size of a couple of draft horses, and his shoulder barely topped Laurence’s head. Looking more closely, Laurence could see his hide was marked with streaks of dried blood, and the harness did not look particularly clean or well-kept, unlike those of the other dragons; it bore stains and rough patches.
“Come here, and let me have a look at you,” Laurence said quietly, as he took up the linens, still wet from the lake, and began to clean the little dragon.
“Oh, thank you,” the Winchester said, leaning happily into the cloth. “My name is Levitas,” he added shyly.
“I am Laurence, and this is Temeraire,” Laurence said.
“Laurence is my captain,” Temeraire said, the smallest hint of belligerence in his tone, and an emphasis on the possessive; Laurence looked up at him in surprise, and paused in his cleaning to pat Temeraire’s side. Temeraire subsided, but watched with his pupils narrowed to thin slits while Laurence finished.
“Shall I see if I cannot find what has happened to your handler?” he told Levitas with a final pat. “Perhaps he is not feeling well, but if so I am sure he will be well soon.”
“Oh, I do not think he is sick,” Levitas said, with that same sadness. “But that feels much better already,” he added, and rubbed his head gratefully against Laurence’s shoulder.
Temeraire gave a low displeased rumble and flexed his talons against the stone; with an alarmed chirp, Levitas flew straightaway up to Maximus’s back and nestled down small against the other Winchester again. Laurence turned to Temeraire. “Come now, what is this jealousy?” he said softly. “Surely you cannot begrudge him a little cleaning when his handler is neglecting him.”
“You are mine,” Temeraire said obstinately. After a moment, however, he ducked his head in a
shamefaced way and added in a smaller voice, “He would be easier to clean.”
“I would not give up an inch of your hide were you twice Laetificat’s size,” Laurence said. “But perhaps I will see if some of the boys would like to wash him, tomorrow.”
“Oh, that would be good,” Temeraire said, brightening. “I do not quite understand why his handler has not come; you would never stay away so long, would you?”
“Never in life, unless I was kept away by force,” Laurence said. He did not understand it himself; he could imagine that a man harnessed to a dim beast would not necessarily find the creature’s company satisfying intellectually, but at the least he would have expected the easy affection with which he had seen James treat Volatilus. And though even smaller, Levitas was certainly more intelligent than Volly. Perhaps it was not so strange that there would be less dedicated men among aviators as well as in any other branch of the service, but with the shortage of dragons, it seemed a great pity to see one of them reduced to unhappiness, which could not help but affect the creature’s performance.
Laurence carried Temeraire’s harness with him out of the castle yard and over to the large sheds where the ground crews worked; though it was late in the day, there were several men still sitting out in front, smoking comfortably. They looked at him curiously, not saluting, but not unfriendly, either. “Ah, you’d be Temeraire’s,” one of them said, reaching out to take the harness. “Has it broken? We’ll be having a proper harness ready for you in a few days, but we can patch it up in the meantime.”
“No, it merely needs cleaning,” Laurence said.
“You haven’t a harness-tender yet; we can’t be assigning you your ground crew till we know how he’s to be trained,” the man said. “But we’ll see to it; Hollin, give this a rub, would you?” he called, catching the attention of a younger man who was working on a bit of leatherwork inside.
Hollin came out, wiping grease off onto his apron, and took the harness in big, capable-looking hands. “Right you are; will he give me any trouble, putting it back on him after?” he asked.