“I’ll do it along of dropping off Temeraire’s,” Hollin said hurriedly. “I don’t mind; he’s so small it won’t take me but a few shakes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hollin; I am glad to see I was not mistaken,” Laurence said, and turned back to the castle; he heard the murmur behind him of “Regular Tartar, he is; wouldn’t fancy being on his crew.” It was not a pleasant thing to hear, at all; he had never been considered a hard captain, and he had always prided himself on ruling his men by respect rather than fear or a heavy hand; many of his crew had been volunteers.

He was conscious, too, of guilt: by speaking so strongly, he had indeed gone over the head of Levitas’s captain, and the man would have every right to complain. But Laurence could not quite bring himself to regret it; Levitas was clearly neglected, and it in no way fit his sense of duty to leave the creature in discomfort. The informality of the Corps might for once be of service to him; with any luck the hint might not be taken as direct interference, or as truly outrageous as it would have been in the Navy.

It had not been an auspicious first day; he was both weary and discouraged. There had been nothing truly unacceptable as he had feared, nothing so bad he could not bear it, but also nothing easy or familiar. He could not help but long for the comforting strictures of the Navy which had encompassed all his life, and wish impractically that he and Temeraire might be once again on the deck of the Reliant, with all the wide ocean around them.

Chapter 6

THE SUN WOKE him, streaming in through the eastern windows. The forgotten cold plate had been waiting for him the night before when he had finally climbed back up to his room, Tolly evidently being as good as his word. A couple of flies had settled on the food, but that was nothing to a seaman; Laurence had waved them off and devoured it to the crumbs. He had meant only to rest awhile before supper and a bath; now he blinked stupidly up at the ceiling for the better part of a minute before getting his bearings.

Then he remembered the training; he scrambled up at once. He had slept in his shirt and breeches, but fortunately he had a second of each, and his coat was reasonably fresh. He would have to remember to find a tailor locally where he could order another. It was a bit of a struggle to get into it alone, but he managed, and felt himself in good order when at last he descended.

The senior officers’ table was nearly empty. Granby was not there, but Laurence felt the effect of his presence in the sideways glances the two young men sitting together at the lower end of the table gave him. Nearer the head of the room, a big, thickset man with a florid face and no coat on was eating steadily through a heaped plate of eggs and black pudding and bacon; Laurence looked around uncertainly for a sideboard.

“Morning, Captain; coffee or tea?” Tolly was at his elbow, holding two pots.

“Coffee, thank you,” Laurence said gratefully; he had the cup drained and held out for more before the man even turned away. “Do we serve ourselves?” he asked.

“No, here comes Lacey with eggs and bacon for you; just mention if you like something else,” Tolly said, already moving on.

The maidservant was wearing coarse homespun, and she said, “Good morning!” cheerfully instead of staying silent, but it was so pleasant to see a friendly face that Laurence found himself returning the greeting. The plate she was carrying was so hot it steamed, and he had not a fig to give for propriety once he had tasted the splendid bacon: cured with some unfamiliar smoke, and full of flavor, and the yolks of his eggs almost bright orange. He ate quickly, with an eye on the squares of light traveling across the floor where the sun struck through the high windows.

“Don’t choke,” said the thickset man, eyeing him. “Tolly, more tea,” he bellowed; his voice was loud enough to carry through a storm. “You Laurence?” he demanded, as his cup was refilled.

Laurence finished swallowing and said, “Yes, sir; you have the advantage of me.”

“Berkley,” the man said. “Look here, what sort of nonsense have you been filling your dragon’s head with? My Maximus has been muttering all morning about wanting a bath, and his harness removed; absurd stuff.”

“I do not find it so, sir, to be concerned with the comfort of my dragon,” Laurence said quietly, his hands tightening on the cutlery.

Berkley glared straight back at him. “Why damn you, are you suggesting I neglect Maximus? No one has ever washed dragons; they don’t mind a little dirt, they have hide.”

Laurence reined in his temper and his voice; his appetite was gone, however, and he set down knife and fork. “Evidently your dragon disagrees; do you suppose yourself a better judge than he of what gives him discomfort?”

Berkley scowled at him fiercely, then abruptly he snorted. “Well, you are a fire-breather, make no mistake; and here I thought you Navy fellows were all so stiff and cautious-like.” He drained his teacup and stood up from the table. “I will be seeing you later; Celeritas wants to pace Maximus and Temeraire out together.” He nodded, apparently in all friendliness, and left.

Laurence was a little dazed by this abrupt reversal; then he realized he was near to being late, and he had no more time to think over the incident. Temeraire was waiting impatiently, and now Laurence found himself paying for his virtue, as the harness had to be put back on; even with the help of two ground crewmen he called over, they barely reached the courtyard in time.

Celeritas was not yet in the courtyard as they landed, but only a short while after their arrival, Laurence saw the training master emerge from one of the openings carved into the cliff wall: evidently these were private quarters, perhaps for older or more honored dragons. Celeritas shook out his wings and flew over to the courtyard, landing neatly on his rear legs, and he looked Temeraire over thoroughly. “Hm, yes, excellent depth of chest. Inhale, please. Yes, yes.” He sat back down on all fours. “Now then. Let us have a look at you. Two full circuits of the valley, first circuit horizontal turns, then backwing on the second. Go at an easy pace, I wish to assess your conformation, not your speed.” He made a nudging gesture with his head.

Temeraire leapt back aloft at full speed. “Gently,” Laurence called, tugging at the reins to remind him, and Temeraire slowed reluctantly to a more moderate pace. He soared easily through the turns, and then the loops; Celeritas called out, “Now again, at speed,” as they came back around. Laurence bent low to Temeraire’s neck as the wings beat with great frantic thrusts about him, and the wind whistled at a high pitch past his ears. It was faster than they had ever gone before, and as exhilarating; he could not resist, and gave a small whoop for Temeraire’s ears only as they went racing into the turn.

The second circuit completed, they winged back towards the courtyard again; Temeraire was scarcely breathing fast. But before they crossed half the valley there came a sudden tremendous roaring from overhead, and a vast black shadow fell over them: Laurence looked up in alarm to see Maximus barreling down towards their path as though he meant to ram them. Temeraire jerked to an abrupt stop and hovered in place, and Maximus went flying past and swept back up just short of the ground.

“What the devil do you mean by this, Berkley?” Laurence roared at the top of his lungs, standing in the harness; he was in a fury, his hands shaking but for his grip on the reins. “You will explain yourself, sir, this instant—”

“My God! How can he do that?” Berkley was shouting back at him, conversationally, as though they had not done anything out of the ordinary at all; Maximus was flying sedately back up towards the courtyard. “Celeritas, do you see that?”