“Oh, yes, sir,” Tripp said, enthusiastically. “Such wonderful food, and they gave me a whole dozen of those sweet dumplings at the end, too. It is a pity we cannot always be eating so.”
Laurence sighed over this example of youthful resilience; his own stomach was not at all comfortable yet. “Mind you do not fall asleep on watch,” he said; after such a dinner it would be astonishing if the boy was not sorely tempted, and Laurence had no desire to see him suffer the ignominious punishment.
“Never, sir,” Tripp said, swallowing a fresh yawn and finishing the sentence out in a squeak. “Sir,” he asked, nervously, in a low voice, when Laurence would have gone, “May I ask you—you do not suppose that Chinese spirits would show themselves to a fellow who was not a member of their family, do you?”
“I am tolerably certain you will not see any spirits on watch, Mr. Tripp, unless you have concealed some in your coat pocket,” Laurence said, dryly. This took a moment to puzzle out, then Tripp laughed, but still nervously, and Laurence frowned. “Has someone been telling you stories?” he asked, well aware of what such rumors could do to the state of a ship’s crew.
“No, it is only that—well, I thought I saw someone, forward, when I went to turn the glass. But I spoke, and he quite vanished away; I am sure he was a Chinaman, and oh, his face was so white!”
“That is quite plain: you saw one of the servants who cannot speak our tongue, coming from the head, and startled him into ducking away from what he thought would be a scolding of some sort. I hope you are not inclined to superstition, Mr. Tripp; it is something which must be tolerated in the men, but a sad flaw in an officer.” He spoke sternly, hoping by firmness to keep the boy from spreading the tale, at least; and if the fear kept him wakeful for the rest of the night, it would be so much the better.
“Yes, sir,” Tripp said, rather dismally. “Good night, sir.”
Laurence continued his circuit of the deck, at a leisurely pace that was all he could muster. The exercise was settling his stomach; he was almost inclined to take another turn, but the glass was running low, and he did not wish to disappoint Temeraire by rising late. As he made to step down into the fore hatch, however, a sudden heavy blow landed on his back and he lurched, tripped, and pitched headfirst down the ladder-way.
His hand grasped automatically for the guideline, and after a jangling twist he found the steps with his feet, catching himself against the ladder with a thump. Angry, he looked up and nearly fell again, recoiling from the pallid white face, incomprehensibly deformed, that was peering closely into his own out of the dark.
“Good God in Heaven,” he said, with great sincerity; then he recognized Feng Li, Yongxing’s servant, and breathed again: the man only looked so strange because he was dangling upside-down through the hatch, barely inches from falling himelf. “What the devil do you mean, lunging about the deck like this?” he demanded, catching the man’s flailing hand and setting it onto the guideline, so he could right himself. “You ought to have better sea-legs by now.”
Feng Li only stared in mute incomprehension, then hauled himself back onto his feet and scrambled down the ladder past Laurence pell-mell, disappearing belowdecks to where the Chinese servants were quartered with speed enough to call it vanishing. With his dark blue clothing and black hair, as soon as his face was out of sight he was almost invisible in the dark. “I cannot blame Tripp in the least,” Laurence said aloud, now more generously inclined towards the boy’s silliness; his heart was still pounding disgracefully as he continued on to his quarters.
Laurence roused the next morning to yells of dismay and feet running overhead; he dashed at once for the deck to find the foremainsail yard tumbled to the deck in two pieces, the enormous sail draped half over the forecastle, and Temeraire looking at once miserable and embarrassed. “I did not mean to,” he said, sounding gravelly and quite unlike himself, and sneezed again, this time managing to turn his head away from the ship: the force of the eruption cast up a few waves that slopped against the larboard side.
Keynes was already climbing up to the deck with his bag, and laid his ear against Temeraire’s chest. “Hm.” He said nothing more, listening in many places, until Laurence grew impatient and prompted him.
“Oh, it is certainly a cold; there is nothing to be done but wait it out, and dose him for coughing when that should begin. I am only seeing if I might hear the fluid moving in the channels which relate to the divine wind,” Keynes said absently. “We have no notion of the anatomy of the particular trait; a pity we have never had a specimen to dissect.”
Temeraire drew back at this, putting his ruff down, and snorted; or rather tried to: instead he blew mucus out all over Keynes’s head. Laurence himself sprang back only just in time, and could not feel particularly sorry for the surgeon: the remark had been thoroughly tactless.
Temeraire croaked out, “I am quite well, we can still go flying,” and looked at Laurence in appeal.
“Perhaps a shorter flight now, and then again in the afternoon, if you are still not tired,” Laurence offered, looking at Keynes, who was ineffectually trying to get the slime from his face.
“No, in warm weather like this he can fly just as usual if he likes to; no need to baby him,” Keynes said, rather shortly, managing to clear his eyes at least. “So long as you are sure to be strapped on tight, or he will sneeze you clean off. Will you excuse me?”
So in the end Temeraire had his long flight after all: the Allegiance left dwindling behind in the blue-water depths, and the ocean shading to jeweled glass as they drew nearer the coast: old cliffs, softened by the years and sloping gently to the water under a cloak of unbroken green, with a fringe of jagged grey boulders at their base to break the water. There were a few small stretches of pale sand, none large enough for Temeraire to land even if they had not grown wary; but otherwise the trees were impenetrable, even after they had flown straight inland for nearly an hour.
It was lonely, and as monotonous as flying over empty ocean; the wind among the leaves instead of the lapping of the waves, only a different variety of silence. Temeraire looked eagerly at every occasional animal cry that broke the stillness, but saw nothing past the ground cover, so thickly overgrown were the trees. “Does no one live here?” he asked, eventually.
He might have been keeping his voice low because of the cold, but Laurence felt the same inclination to preserve the quiet, and answered softly, “No; we have flown too deep. Even the most powerful tribes live only along the coasts, and never venture so far inland; there are too many feral dragons and other beasts, too savage to confront.”
They continued on without speaking for some time; the sun was very strong, and Laurence drifted neither awake nor asleep, his head nodding against his chest. Unchecked, Temeraire kept on his course, the slow pace no challenge to his endurance; when at last Laurence roused, on Temeraire’s sneezing again, the sun was past its zenith: they would miss dinner.
Temeraire did not express a wish to stay longer when Laurence said they ought to turn around; if anything he quickened his pace. They had gone so far that the coastline was out of sight, and they flew back only by Laurence’s compass, with no landmarks to guide them through the unchanging jungle. The smooth curve of the ocean was very welcome, and Temeraire’s spirits rose as they struck out again over the waves. “At least I am not tiring anymore, even if I am sick,” he said, and then sneezed himself thirty feet directly upwards, with a sound not unlike cannon-fire.