Maximus hovered anxiously over Berkley and rumbled in distress. “Stop that moaning, Maximus; nothing more ridiculous than a creature of your size behaving like a mother hen,” Berkley said as he fell into the chair that the servants had hurriedly brought. “Ah, thank you,” he said, taking the glass of brandy Laurence offered him, and sipped at it while Laurence loosened his neckcloth.
“I am sorry to have put you under such a strain,” Celeritas said, when Berkley was no longer gasping and scarlet. “Ordinarily these trials would be spread over half a month’s time. Perhaps I am pressing on too quickly.”
“Nonsense, I will be well in a trice,” Berkley said at once. “I know damned well we cannot spare a moment, Celeritas, so do not be holding us back on my account.”
“Laurence, why are matters so urgent?” Temeraire asked that evening after dinner, as they once again settled down together outside the courtyard walls to read. “Is there to be a great battle soon, and we are needed for it?”
Laurence folded the book closed, keeping his place with a finger. “No; I am sorry to disappoint you, but we are too raw to be sent by choice directly into a major action. Still, it is very likely that Lord Nelson will not be able to destroy the French fleet without the help of one of the Longwing formations presently stationed in England; our duty will be to take their place, so they may go. That will indeed be a great battle, and though we will not participate in it directly, I assure you our part is by no means unimportant.”
“No, though it does not sound very exciting,” Temeraire said. “But perhaps France will invade us, and then we will have to fight?” He sounded rather more hopeful than anything else.
“We must hope not,” Laurence said. “If Nelson destroys their fleet, it will pretty well put paid to any chance of Bonaparte’s bringing his army across. Though I have heard he has something like a thousand boats to carry his men, they are only transports, and the Navy would sink them by the dozens if they tried to come across without the protection of the fleet.”
Temeraire sighed and put his head down over his forelegs. “Oh,” he said.
Laurence laughed and stroked his nose. “How bloodthirsty you are,” he said with amusement. “Do not fear; I promise you we will see enough action when your training is done. There is a great deal of skirmishing over the Channel, for one thing; and then we may be sent in support of a naval operation, or perhaps sent to harass the French shipping independently.” This heartened Temeraire greatly, and he turned his attention to the book with restored good humor.
Friday they spent in an endurance trial, trying to see how long both dragons could stay aloft. The formation’s slowest members would be the two Yellow Reapers, so both Temeraire and Maximus had to be kept to that slower pace for the test, and they went around and around the training valley in an endless circle, while above them the rest of the formation performed a drill under Celeritas’s supervision.
A steady rain blurred all the landscape below into a grey monotony and made the task still more boring. Temeraire often turned his head to inquire, a little plaintively, how long he had been flying, and Laurence was generally obliged to inform him that scarcely a quarter of an hour had passed since the last query. Laurence at least could watch the formation wheeling and diving, their bright colors marked against the pale grey sky; poor Temeraire had to keep his head straight and level to maintain the best flying posture.
After perhaps three hours, Maximus began to fall off the pace, his great wings beating more slowly and his head drooping; Berkley took him back in, and Temeraire was left all alone, still going around. The rest of the formation came spiraling down to land in the courtyard, and Laurence saw the dragons nodding to Maximus, inclining their heads respectfully. At this distance he could not make out any words, but it was clear they were all conversing easily among themselves while their captains milled about and Celeritas gathered them together to review their performance. Temeraire saw them as well, and sighed a little, though he said nothing; Laurence leaned forward and stroked his neck, and silently vowed to bring him back the most elegant jewels he could find in the whole of Edinburgh, if he had to draw out half his capital to do so.
Laurence came out into the courtyard early the next morning to say farewell to Temeraire before his trip with Rankin. He stopped short as he emerged from the hall: Levitas was being put under gear by a small ground crew, with Rankin at his head reading a newspaper and paying little attention to the proceedings. “Hello, Laurence,” the little dragon said to him happily. “Look, this is my captain, he has come! And we are flying to Edinburgh today.”
“Have you been talking with him?” Rankin said to Laurence, glancing up. “I see you were not exaggerating, and that you do indeed enjoy dragon society; I hope you will not find yourself tiring of it. You will be taking Laurence along with myself today; you must make an effort to show him a good pace,” he told Levitas.
“Oh, I will, I promise,” Levitas said at once, bobbing his head anxiously.
Laurence made some civil answer and walked quickly to Temeraire’s side to cover his confusion; he did not know what to do. There was no possible way to avoid the journey now without being truly insulting; but he felt almost ill. Over the last few days he had seen more evidence than he liked of Levitas’s unhappiness and neglect: the little dragon watched anxiously for a handler who did not come, and if he or his harness had been given more than a cursory wipe, it was because Laurence had encouraged the cadets to see to him, and asked Hollin to continue attending to his harness. To find Rankin the one responsible for such neglect was bitterly disappointing; to see Levitas behaving with such servility and gratitude for the least cold attention was painful.
Perceived through the lens of his neglect of his dragon, Rankin’s remarks on dragons took on a character of disdain that could only be strange and unpleasant in an aviator; and his isolation from his fellow officers also, rather than an indication of nice taste. Every other aviator had introduced himself with his dragon’s name ready to his lips; Rankin alone had considered his family name of more importance, and left Laurence to find out only by accident that Levitas was assigned to him. But Laurence had not seen through any of this, and now he found he had, in the most unguarded sort of way, encouraged the acquaintance of a man he could never respect.
He petted Temeraire and made him some reassurances meant mostly for his own comfort. “Is anything wrong, Laurence?” Temeraire said, nosing at him gently with concern. “You do not seem well.”
“No, I am perfectly well, I assure you,” he said, making an effort to sound normal. “You are quite certain you do not mind my going?” he asked, with a faint hope.
“Not at all, and you will be back by evening, will you not?” Temeraire asked. “Now that we have finished Duncan, I was hoping perhaps you could read me something more about mathematics; I thought it was very interesting how you explained that you could tell where you are, when you have been sailing for a long time, only through knowing the time and some equations.”
Laurence had been very glad to leave behind mathematics after having forced the basics of trigonometry into his head. “Certainly, if you like,” he said, trying to keep dismay out of his voice. “But I thought perhaps you would enjoy something about Chinese dragons?”
“Oh, yes, that would be splendid too; we could read that next,” Temeraire said. “It is very nice how many books there are, indeed; and on so many subjects.”
If it would give Temeraire something to think about and keep him from becoming distressed, Laurence was prepared to go as far as to bring his Latin up to snuff and read him Principia Mathematica in the original; so he only sighed privately. “Very well, then I leave you in the hands of the ground crew; I see them coming now.”