His hands tightened on the reins involuntarily, and Temeraire looked around. “Are you well, Laurence?” he asked. “You have been so quiet.”
“Forgive me, I have only been woolgathering,” Laurence said, patting Temeraire’s neck. “It is nothing. Are you tiring at all? Should you like to stop and rest awhile?”
“No, I am not tired, but you are not telling the truth: I can hear you are unhappy,” Temeraire said anxiously. “Is it not good that we are going to begin training? Or are you missing your ship?”
“I find I am become transparent before you,” Laurence said ruefully. “I am not missing my ship at all, no, but I will admit I am a little concerned about our training. Powys and Bowden were very odd about the whole thing, and I am not sure what sort of reception we will meet in Scotland, or how we shall like it.”
“If we do not care for it, surely we can just go away again?” Temeraire said.
“It is not so easy; we are not at liberty, you know,” Laurence said. “I am a King’s officer, and you are a King’s dragon; we cannot do as we please.”
“I have never met the King; I am not his property, like a sheep,” Temeraire said. “If I belong to anyone, it is you, and you to me. I am not going to stay in Scotland if you are unhappy there.”
“Oh dear,” Laurence said; this was not the first time Temeraire had showed a distressing tendency to independent thought, and it seemed to only be increasing as he grew older and started to spend more of his time awake. Laurence was not himself particularly interested in political philosophy, and he found it sadly puzzling to have to work out explanations for what to him seemed natural and obvious. “It is not ownership, exactly; but we owe him our loyalty. Besides,” he added, “we would have a hard time of it keeping you fed, were the Crown not paying for your board.”
“Cows are very nice, but I do not mind eating fish,” Temeraire said. “Perhaps we could get a large ship, like the transport, and go back to sea.”
Laurence laughed at the image. “Shall I turn pirate king and go raiding in the West Indies, and fill a covert with gold from Spanish merchant ships for you?” He stroked Temeraire’s neck.
“That sounds exciting,” Temeraire said, his imagination clearly caught. “Can we not?”
“No, we are born too late; there are no real pirates anymore,” Laurence said. “The Spanish burned the last pirate band out of Tortuga last century; now there are only a few independent ships or dragon-crews, at most, and those always in danger of being brought down. And you would not truly like it, fighting only for greed; it is not the same as doing one’s duty for King and country, knowing that you are protecting England.”
“Does it need protecting?” Temeraire asked, looking down. “It seems all quiet, as far as I can see.”
“Yes, because it is our business and the Navy’s to keep it so,” Laurence said. “If we did not do our work, the French could come across the Channel; they are there, not very far to the east, and Bonaparte has an army of a hundred thousand men waiting to come across the moment we let him. That is why we must do our duty; it is like the sailors on the Reliant, who cannot always be doing just as they like, or the ship will not sail.”
In response to this, Temeraire hummed in thought, deep in his belly; Laurence could feel the sound reverberating through his own body. Temeraire’s pace slowed a little; he glided for a while and then beat back up into the air in a spiral before leveling out again, very much like a fellow pacing back and forth. He looked around again. “Laurence, I have been thinking: if we must go to Loch Laggan, then there is no decision to be made at present; and because we do not know what may be wrong there, we cannot think of something to do now. So you should not worry until we have arrived and seen how matters stand.”
“My dear, this is excellent advice, and I will try to follow it,” Laurence said, adding, “but I am not certain that I can; it is difficult not to think of.”
“You could tell me again about the Armada, and how Sir Francis Drake and Conflagratia destroyed the Spanish fleet,” Temeraire suggested.
“Again?” Laurence said. “Very well; although I will begin to doubt your memory at this rate.”
“I remember it perfectly,” Temeraire said with dignity. “But I like to hear you tell it.”
What with Temeraire making him repeat favorite sections and asking questions about the dragons and ships which Laurence thought even a scholar could not have answered, the rest of the flight passed without giving him leisure to worry any further. Evening was far advanced by the time they finally closed in upon his family’s home at Wollaton Hall, and in the twilight all the many windows glowed.
Temeraire circled over the house a few times out of curiosity, his pupils open very wide; Laurence, peering down himself, made a count of lit windows and realized that the house could not be empty; he had assumed it would be, the London Season being still in full train, but it was now too late to seek another berth for Temeraire. “Temeraire, there ought to be an empty paddock behind the barns, to the south-east there; can you see it?”
“Yes, there is a fence around it,” Temeraire said, looking. “Shall I land there?”
“Yes, thank you; I am afraid I must ask you to stay there, for the horses would certainly have fits if you came anywhere near the stables.”
When Temeraire had landed, Laurence climbed down and stroked his warm nose. “I will arrange for you to have something to eat as soon as I have spoken with my parents, if they are indeed home, but that may take some time,” he said apologetically.
“You need not bring me food tonight; I ate well before we left, and I am sleepy. I will eat some of those deer over there in the morning,” Temeraire said, settling himself down and curling his tail around his legs. “You should stay inside; it is colder here than Madeira was, and I do not want you to fall sick.”
“There is something very curious about a six-week-old creature playing nursemaid,” Laurence said, amused; yet even as he spoke, he could hardly believe Temeraire was so young. Temeraire had seemed in most respects mature straight out of the shell, and ever since hatching he had been drinking up knowledge of the world with such enthusiasm that the gaps in his understanding were vanishing with astonishing speed. Laurence no longer thought of him as a creature for whom he was responsible, but rather as an intimate friend, already the dearest in his life, and one to be depended upon without question. The training lost a little of its dread for Laurence as he looked up at the already-drowsing Temeraire, and Barstowe he put aside in his memory as a bugbear. Surely there could be nothing ahead which they could not face together.
But his family he would have to face alone. Coming to the house from the stable side, he could see that his first impression from the air had been correct: the drawing room was brightly lit, and many of the bedrooms had candlelight in them. It was certainly a house party, despite the time of year.
He sent a footman to let his father know he was home, and went up to his room by the back stairs to change. He would have liked a bath, but he thought he had to go down at once to be civil; anything else might smack of avoidance. He settled for washing his face and hands in the basin; he had brought his evening rig, fortunately. He looked strange to himself in the mirror, wearing the new bottle-green coat of the Corps with the gold bars upon the shoulders in place of epaulettes; it had been bought in Dover, having been partly made for another man and adjusted hastily while Laurence waited, but it fit well enough.
More than a dozen people were assembled in the drawing room, besides his parents; the idle conversation died down when he entered, then resumed in hushed voices and followed him through the room. His mother came to meet him; her face was composed but a little fixed in its expression, and he could feel her tension as he bent to kiss her cheek. “I am sorry to descend on you unannounced in this fashion,” he said. “I did not expect to find anyone at home; I am only here for the night, and bound for Scotland in the morning.”