“But sir, there are soldiers among them,” Hammond protested. “I am sure they would wish to drill, from time to time—”

“They may wait until they reach China,” Laurence said.

Hammond followed him out of the cabin and caught him at the door to his own quarters; inside, two ground crewmen had just brought in more chairs, and Roland and Dyer were busily laying plates out upon the cloth: the other dragons’ captains were joining Laurence for breakfast before they took their leave. “Sir,” Hammond said, “pray allow me a moment. I must beg your pardon for having sent you to Prince Yongxing in such a way, knowing him to be in an intemperate mood, and I assure you I blame only myself for the consequences, and your quarrel; still, I must beg you to be forbearing—”

Laurence listened to this much, frowning, and now with mounting incredulity said, “Are you saying that you were already aware—? That you made this proposal to Captain Riley, knowing I had forbidden them the deck?”

His voice was rising as he spoke, and Hammond darted his eyes desperately towards the open door of the cabin: Roland and Dyer were staring wide-eyed and interested at them both, not attending to the great silver platters they were holding. “You must understand, we cannot put them in such a position. Prince Yongxing has issued a command; if we defy it openly, we humiliate him before his own—”

“Then he had best learn not to issue commands to me, sir,” Laurence said angrily, “and you would do better to tell him so, instead of carrying them out for him, in this underhanded—”

“For Heaven’s sake! Do you imagine I have any desire to see you barred from Temeraire? All we have to bargain with is the dragon’s refusal to be separated from you,” Hammond said, growing heated himself. “But that alone will not get us very far without good-will, and if Prince Yongxing cannot enforce his commands so long as we are at sea, our positions will be wholly reversed in China. Would you have us sacrifice an alliance to your pride? To say nothing,” Hammond added, with a contemptible attempt at wheedling, “of any hope of keeping Temeraire.”

“I am no diplomat,” Laurence said, “but I will tell you, sir, if you imagine you are likely to get so much as a thimbleful of good-will from this prince, no matter how you truckle to him, then you are a damned fool; and I will thank you not to imagine that I may be bought by castles in the air.”

Laurence had meant to send Harcourt and the others off in a creditable manner, but his table was left to bear the social burden alone, without any assistance from his conversation. Thankfully he had laid in good stores, and there was some advantage in being so close to the galley: bacon, ham, eggs, and coffee came to the table steaming hot, even as they sat down, along with a portion of a great tunny, rolled in pounded ship’s biscuit and fried, the rest of which had gone to Temeraire; also a large dish of cherry preserves, and an even larger of marmalade. He ate only a little, and seized gladly on the distraction when Warren asked him to sketch the course of the battle for them. He pushed aside his mostly untouched plate to demonstrate the maneuvers of the ships and the Fleur-de-Nuit with bits of crumbled bread, the salt-cellar standing for the Allegiance.

The dragons were just completing their own somewhat less-civilized breakfast as Laurence and the other captains came back above to the dragondeck. Laurence was deeply gratified to find Temeraire wide awake and alert, looking much more easy with his bandages showing clean white, and engaged in persuading Maximus to try a piece of the tunny.

“It is a particularly nice one, and fresh-caught this very morning,” he said. Maximus eyed the fish with deep suspicion: Temeraire had already eaten perhaps half, but its head had not been removed, and it lay gap-mouthed and staring glassily on the deck. A good fifteen hundred pounds when first taken, Laurence guessed; even half was still impressive.

Less so, however, when Maximus finally bent his head down and took it: the whole bulk made a single bite for him, and it was amusing to see him chewing with a skeptical expression. Temeraire waited expectantly; Maximus swallowed and licked his chops, and said, “It would not be so very bad, I suppose, if there were nothing else handy, but it is too slippery.”

Temeraire’s ruff flattened with disappointment. “Perhaps one must develop a taste for it. I dare say they can catch you another.”

Maximus snorted. “No; I will leave the fish to you. Is there any more mutton, at all?” he asked, peering over at the herdsmaster with interest.

“How many have you et up already?” Berkley demanded, heaving himself up the stairs towards him. “Four? That is enough; if you grow any more, you will never get yourself off the ground.”

Maximus ignored this and cleaned the last haunch of sheep out of the slaughtering-tub; the others had finished also, and the herdmaster’s mates began pumping water over the dragondeck to sluice away the blood: shortly there was a veritable frenzy of sharks in the waters before the ship.

The William of Orange was nearly abreast of them, and Riley had gone across to discuss the supplies with her captain; now he reappeared on her deck and was rowed back over, while her men began laying out fresh supplies of wooden spars and sailcloth. “Lord Purbeck,” Riley said, climbing back up the side, “we will send the launch to fetch over the supplies, if you please.”

“Shall we bring them for you instead?” Harcourt asked, calling down from the dragondeck. “We will have to clear Maximus and Lily off the deck in any case; we can just as easily ferry supplies as fly circles.”

“Thank you, sir; you would oblige me greatly,” Riley said, looking up and bowing, with no evident suspicion: Harcourt’s hair was pulled back tightly, the long braid concealed beneath her flying-hood, while her dress coat hid her figure well enough.

Maximus and Lily went aloft, without their crews, clearing room on the deck for the others to make ready; the crews rolled out the harnesses and armor, and began rigging the smaller dragons out, while the two larger flew over to the William of Orange for the supplies. The moment of departure was drawing close, and Laurence limped over to Temeraire’s side; he was conscious suddenly of a sharp, unanticipated regret.

“I do not know that dragon,” Temeraire said to Laurence, looking across the water at the other transport; there was a large beast sprawled sullenly upon their dragondeck, a stripey brown-and-green, with red streaks on his wings and neck rather like paint: Laurence had never seen the breed before.

“He is an Indian breed, from one of those tribes in Canada,” Sutton said, when Laurence pointed out the strange dragon. “I think Dakota, if I am pronouncing the name correctly; I understand he and his rider—they do not use crews over there, you know, only one man to a dragon, no matter the size—were captured raiding a settlement on the frontier. It is a great coup: a vastly different breed, and I understand they are very fierce fighters. They meant to use him at the breeding grounds in Halifax, but I believe it was agreed that once Praecursoris was sent to them, they should send that fellow here in exchange; and a proper bloody-minded creature he looks.”

“It seems hard to send him so very far from home, and to stay,” Temeraire said, rather low, looking at the other dragon. “He does not look at all happy.”

“He would only be sitting in the breeding grounds at Halifax instead of here, and that does not make much difference,” Messoria said, stretching her wings out for the convenience of her harness-crewmen, who were climbing over her to get her rigged out. “They are all much alike, and not very interesting, except for the breeding part,” she added, with somewhat alarming frankness; she was a much older dragon than Temeraire, being over thirty years of age.