“Thank heavens,” Riley said, to a general round of laughing agreement, and Laurence managed to smile and raise a glass in Temeraire’s honor with the rest of the table.

Afterwards, having said his good nights in the cabin, Laurence walked a little unsteadily back towards the stern, where Temeraire lay in solitary splendor, the crew having mostly abandoned that part of the deck to him as he had grown. He opened a gleaming eye as Laurence approached and lifted a wing in invitation. Laurence was a little surprised at the gesture, but he took up his pallet and ducked under into the comfortable warmth. He unrolled the pallet and sat down upon it, leaning back against the dragon’s side, and Temeraire lowered the wing again, making a warm sheltered space around him.

“Do you think I will be able to breathe fire or spit poison?” Temeraire asked. “I am not sure how I could tell; I tried, but I only blew air.”

“Did you hear us talking?” Laurence asked, startled; the stern windows had been open, and the conversation might well have been audible on deck, but somehow it had not occurred to him that Temeraire might listen.

“Yes,” Temeraire said. “The part about the battle was very exciting. Have you been in many of them?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” Laurence said. “Not more than many other fellows.” This was not entirely true; he had an unusually large number of actions to his credit, which had seen him to the post-list at a relatively young age, and he was accounted a fighting-captain. “But that is how we found you, when you were in the egg; you were aboard the prize when we took her,” he added, indicating the Amitié, her stern lanterns presently visible two points to larboard.

Temeraire looked out at her with interest. “You won me in a battle? I did not know that.” He sounded pleased by the information. “Will we be in another one soon? I would like to see. I am sure I could help, even if I cannot breathe fire yet.”

Laurence smiled at his enthusiasm; dragons notoriously had a great deal of fighting spirit, part of what made them so valuable in war. “Most likely not before we put into port, but I dare say we will see enough of them after; England does not have many dragons, so we will most likely be called on a great deal, once you are grown,” he said.

He looked up at Temeraire’s head, presently raised up to gaze out to sea. Relieved of the pressing concern of feeding him, Laurence could give thought now to the other meaning of all that strength behind his back. Temeraire was already larger than some full-grown dragons of other breeds, and, in his inexperienced judgment, very fast. He would indeed be invaluable to the Corps and to England, fire-breath or no. It was not without pride that he thought to himself there was no fear Temeraire would ever prove shy; if he had a difficult duty ahead of him, he could hardly have asked for a worthier partner.

“Will you tell me some more of the battle of the Nile?” Temeraire said, looking down. “Was it just your ship and the other one, and the dragon?”

“Lord, no, there were thirteen ships-of-the-line for our side, with eight dragons from the Third Division of the Aerial Corps in support, and another four dragons from the Turks,” Laurence said. “The French had seventeen and fourteen for their part, so we were outnumbered, but Admiral Nelson’s strategy left them wholly taken aback,” and as he continued, Temeraire lowered his head and curled more closely about him, listening with his great eyes shining in the darkness, and so they talked quietly together, long into the night.

Chapter 3

THEY ARRIVED AT Funchal a day short of Laurence’s original three-week estimate, having been sped along their way by the gale, with Temeraire sitting up in the stern and eagerly watching from the moment the island had come into view. He caused something of an immediate sensation on land, dragons not ordinarily to be seen riding into harbor upon small frigates, and there was a small crowd of spectators gathered upon the docks as they came into port, although by no means coming very close to the vessel.

Admiral Croft’s flagship was in port; the Reliant was nominally sailing under his command, and Riley and Laurence had privately agreed that the two of them should report together to acquaint him with the unusual situation. The signal Captain report aboard flag went up on the Commendable almost the instant they had dropped anchor, and Laurence paused for only a moment to speak with Temeraire. “You must remain aboard until I return, remember,” he said, anxiously, for while Temeraire was never willfully disobliging, he was easily distracted by anything new and of interest, and Laurence did not have a great deal of confidence in his restraint while surrounded by so much of a new world to explore. “I promise you we shall fly over the whole island when I come back; you shall see all you like, and in the meantime Mr. Wells will bring you a nice fresh veal and some lamb, which you have never had.”

Temeraire sighed a little, but inclined his head. “Very well, but do hurry,” he said. “I would like to go up to those mountains. And I could just eat those,” he added, looking at a team of carriage horses standing nearby; the horses stamped nervously as though they had heard and understood perfectly well.

“Oh, no, Temeraire, you cannot just eat anything you see on the streets,” Laurence said in alarm. “Wells will bring you something straightaway.” Turning, he caught the third lieutenant’s eye, and conveyed the urgency of the situation; then with a final dubious glance, he went down the gangplank and joined Riley.

Admiral Croft was waiting for them impatiently; he had evidently heard something of the fuss. He was a tall man and a striking one, the more so for a raking scar across his face and the false hand which was attached to the stump of his left arm, its iron fingers operated by springs and catches. He had lost the limb shortly before his promotion to flag rank, and since had put on a great deal of weight; he did not rise when they came into his stateroom, but only scowled a little and waved them to chairs. “Very well, Laurence, explain yourself; I suppose this has something to do with the feral you have down there?”

“Sir, that is Temeraire; he is not feral,” Laurence said. “We took a French ship, the Amitié, three weeks ago yesterday; we found his egg in their hold. Our surgeon had some knowledge of dragonkind; he warned us that it would hatch shortly, and so we were able to arrange—that is to say, I harnessed him.”

Croft sat up abruptly and squinted at Laurence, then at Riley, only then taking notice of the change in uniform. “What, yourself? And so you— Good Lord, why didn’t you put one of your midshipmen to the thing?” he demanded. “This is taking duty a little far, Laurence; a fine thing when a naval officer chooses to jump ship for the Corps.”

“Sir, my officers and I drew lots,” Laurence said, suppressing a flare of indignation; he had not desired to be lauded for his sacrifice, but it was a little much to be upbraided for it. “I hope no one would ever question my devotion to the service; I felt it only fair to them that I should share the risk, and in the event, though I did not draw the lot, there was no avoiding it; he took a liking to me, and we could not risk him refusing the harness from another hand.”

“Oh, hell,” Croft said, and relapsed into his chair with a sullen expression, tapping the fingers of his right hand against the metal palm of the left, a nervous gesture, and sat silently except for the small clinking noise which his fingernails made upon the iron. The minutes dragged, while Laurence alternated between imagining a thousand disasters which Temeraire might precipitate in his absence, and worrying what Croft might do with the Reliant and Riley.