But there was no choice. Lily had recovered with great speed over the intervening weeks; she had led the formation through a full patrol only yesterday, and landed without pain or stiffness. Lenton had looked her over, spoken a few words with her and Captain Harcourt, and gone straightaway to give Jane her orders for Cadiz. Laurence had been expecting as much, of course, but he could not help feeling concern, both for the dragons going and for those remaining behind.
“There, that will do,” she said, finishing her chart and throwing down her pen; he looked up from the baggage in surprise: he had fallen into a brown study and packed mechanically, without marking what he did; now he realized that he had been silent for nearly twenty minutes together, and that he had one of her stays in his hands. He hastily dropped it atop the neatly packed things in her small case, and closed the lid.
The sunlight was beginning to come in at the window; their time was gone. “There, Laurence, do not look so glum; I have made the flight to Gibraltar a dozen times,” she said, coming to kiss him soundly. “You will have a worse time of it here, I am afraid; they will undoubtedly try some mischief once they know we are gone.”
“I have every confidence in you,” Laurence said, ringing the bell for the servants. “I only hope we have not misjudged.” It was as much as he would say critical of Lenton, particularly on a subject where he could not be unbiased. Yet he felt that even if he had not had a personal objection to make to placing Excidium and his formation in danger, he would still have been concerned by the lack of further intelligence.
Volly had arrived three days before with a report full of fresh negatives. A handful of French dragons had arrived in Cadiz: enough to keep Mortiferus from forcing out the fleet, but not a tenth of the dragons which had been stationed along the Rhine. And in cause for more concern, even though nearly every light and quick dragon not wholly involved in dispatch service had been pressed into scouting and spying, they still knew nothing more of Bonaparte’s work across the Channel.
He walked with her to Excidium’s clearing and saw her aboard; it was strange, for he felt as though he ought to feel more. He would have put a bullet in his brains sooner than let Edith go to face danger while he remained behind himself, yet he could say his adieus to Roland without much more of a pang than in bidding farewell to any other comrade. She blew him a friendly kiss from atop Excidium’s back, once her crew were all aboard. “I will see you in a few months, I am sure, or sooner if we can chase the Frogs out of harbor,” she called down. “Fair winds, and mind you don’t let Emily run wild.”
He raised a hand to her. “Godspeed,” he called, and stood watching as the enormous wings carried Excidium up, the other dragons of his formation rising to join him, until they had all dwindled out of sight to the south.
Although they kept a wary eye on the Channel skies, the first weeks after Excidium’s departure were quiet. No raids came, and Lenton was of the opinion that the French still thought Excidium was in residence, and were correspondingly reluctant to make any venture. “The longer we can keep them thinking it, the better,” he said to the assembled captains after another uneventful patrol. “Aside from the benefit to us, just as well if they don’t realize another formation is nearing their precious fleet at Cadiz.”
They all took a great measure of comfort from the news of Excidium’s safe arrival, which Volly brought almost two weeks to the day from his departure. “They’d already begun when I left,” Captain James told the other captains the next day, taking a hurried breakfast before setting out on his return journey. “You could hear the Spaniards howling for miles: their merchantmen are as quick to fall apart under dragon-spray as any ship-of-the-line, and their shops and houses as well. I expect they’ll fire on the Frenchmen themselves if Villeneuve doesn’t come out soon, alliance or not.”
The atmosphere grew lighter after this encouraging news, and Lenton cut their patrol a little short and granted them all liberty for celebration, a welcome respite to men who had been working at a frenetic pace. The more energetic went into town; most seized a little sleep, as did the weary dragons.
Laurence took the opportunity to enjoy a quiet evening’s reading with Temeraire; they stayed together late into the night, reading by the light of the lanterns. Laurence woke out of a light doze some time after the moon had risen: Temeraire’s head was dark against the illuminated sky, and he was looking searchingly to the north of their clearing. “Is something the matter?” Laurence asked him. Sitting up, he could hear a faint noise, strange and high.
Even as they listened, the sound stopped. “Laurence, that was Lily, I think,” Temeraire said, his ruff standing up stiffly.
Laurence slid down at once. “Stay here; I will return as quickly as I may,” he said, and Temeraire nodded without ever looking away.
The paths through the covert were largely deserted and unlit: Excidium’s formation gone, all the light dragons out on scouting duty, and the night cold enough to send even the most dedicated crews into the barracks buildings. The ground had frozen three days before; it was packed and hard enough for his heels to drum hollowly upon it as he walked.
Lily’s clearing was empty; a faint murmur of noise from the barracks, whose lit windows he could see distantly, through the trees, and no one about the buildings. Lily herself was crouched motionless, her yellow eyes red-rimmed and staring, and she was clawing the ground silently. Low voices, and the sound of crying; Laurence wondered if he was intruding untimely, but Lily’s evident distress decided him: he walked into the clearing, calling in a strong voice, “Harcourt? Are you there?”
“No further” came Choiseul’s voice, low and sharp: Laurence came around Lily’s head and halted in dreadful surprise: Choiseul was holding Harcourt by the arm, and there was an expression of complete despair on his face. “Make no sound, Laurence,” he said; there was a sword in his hand, and behind him on the ground Laurence could see a young midwingman stretched out, dark bloodstains spreading over the back of his coat. “No sound at all.”
“For God’s sake, what do you think you are about?” Laurence said. “Harcourt, is it well with you?”
“He has killed Wilpoys,” she said thickly; she was wavering where she stood, and as the torchlight came on her face he could see a bruise already darkening across half her forehead. “Laurence, never mind about me, you must go and fetch help; he means to do Lily a mischief.”
“No, never, never,” Choiseul said. “I mean no harm to her or you, Catherine, I swear it. But I will not be answerable if you interfere, Laurence; do nothing.” He raised the sword; blood gleamed on its edge, not far from Harcourt’s neck, and Lily made the thin eerie noise again, a high-pitched whining that grated against the ear. Choiseul was pale, his face taking on a greenish cast in the light, and he looked desperate enough to do anything; Laurence kept his position, hoping for a better moment.
Choiseul stood staring at him a moment longer, until satisfied Laurence did not mean to go, and then said, “We will go all of us together to Praecursoris; Lily, you will stay here, and follow when you see us go aloft: I promise you no harm will come to Catherine so long as you obey.”
“Oh, you miserable, cowhearted traitor dog,” Harcourt said, “do you think I am going to go to France with you, and lick Bonaparte’s boots? How long have you been planning this?” She struggled to pull away from him, even staggering as she was, but Choiseul shook her and she nearly fell.
Lily snarled, half-rising, her wings mantling: Laurence could see the black acid glistening at the edges of her bone spurs. “Catherine!” she hissed, the sound distorted through her clenched teeth.