“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.